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"De mon bien, on mon mal, Mon esprit m'est oracle." And of this I had a convincing proof on the arrival of the King of Poland, when the Queen my mother went to meet him. Amidst the embraces and compliments of welcome in that warm season, crowded as we were together and stifling with heat, I found a universal shivering come over me, which was plainly perceived by those near me.
It will never cease seeming strange to an American to hear a Russian mother and son talk intimately together in a language not their own. Even Pushkin, the founder of Russian literature, the national poet, wrote in a letter to a friend, "Je vous parlerai la langue de l'Europe, elle m'est plus familiere."
"Il m'est impossible de vous le dire madame," responded he. Being, for an Eton boy, wonderfully up in French, he was rather given to show it off when he got the chance. He did not owe thanks for it to Eton. Lady Mount Severn had taken better care than that. Better care? What could she want? There was one whole, real, live French tutor and he an Englishman! for the eight hundred boys.
I observed her eyelids flicker and I said: "I think, before you scolded Sarah, you might have heard what she had to say." MLLE. DE MENNECY: "Ce que vous dites me choque profondement; il m'est difficile de croire que vous avez fait une pareille lachete, mademoiselle!" I only knew a few moments ago that you had been so amazingly unjust.
He took the letter to the light, lover-wise, and looked at it through a magnifying glass and his pulses thrilled when it told him that she had originally written, "Votre sante m'est precieuse," and had scrabbled out the "m." "Your health is precious to me." That is what her heart had said. Did lover ever have a dearer mistress?
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