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But such family chats are like the showers of manna, delicious as they fall, but incapable of preservation. The first evening the families met at the house in Beacon Street, Mr. Blumenthal expressed a wish to see Henriet, and she was summoned. The improvement in her appearance impressed him greatly.
Madame Blumenthal has it this grace that soothes and satisfies; and it seems the more perfect that it keeps order and harmony in a character really passionately ardent and active. With her eager nature and her innumerable accomplishments nothing would be easier than that she should seem restless and aggressive. You will know her, and I leave you to judge whether she does seem so!
He greeted me heartily, threw his book on the table, and said that he was taking a German lesson. "And who is your teacher?" I asked, glancing at the book. He rather avoided meeting my eye, as he answered, after an instant's delay, "Madame Blumenthal." "Indeed! Has she written a grammar?" "It's not a grammar; it's a tragedy." And he handed me the book.
Dennant, and he sang "For we can wrestle and fight, my boys, And jump out anywhere." "You 'll be with us for that dinner-party next week, eh? Capital! There's the Bishop of Blumenthal and old Sir Jack Buckwell; I must get my wife to put you between them " "For it's my delight of a starry night " "The Bishop's a great anti-divorce man, and old Buckwell 's been in the court at least twice "
"Tell her we detained you by playing to you," said Mrs. Blumenthal. "O, that would be too much like Adam," rejoined he. "I always feel ashamed to look a woman in the face, after reading that story. I always thought Adam was a mean cuss to throw off all the blame on Eve." With a short bow, and a hasty "Good morning, ladies," he went out.
Run to your room, my children, and bolt the door." A moment afterward, she appeared before them smiling, and said: "There was no occasion for being so frightened, but I am getting nervous with all this flurry. Come back again, dears. It is only Franz Blumenthal." "What, come again?" asked Rosa.
"You will make the journey fast if you travel by express trains. But pray tell me, have you ventured to intimate to Madame Blumenthal your high opinion of her?" "I don't know what I may have said. She listens even better than she talks, and I think it possible I may have made her listen to a great deal of nonsense.
Buried in an arm-chair, the object of this devotion was reading the Revue des Deux Mondes. The purpose of my visit was not to admire Madame Blumenthal on my own account, but to ascertain how far I might safely leave her to work her will upon my friend.
At last, one day, Madame Blumenthal flung down her pen and announced in triumph that she had finished her novel. Clorinda had expired in the arms of some one else than her husband. The major, by way of congratulating her, declared that her novel was immoral rubbish, and that her love of vicious paradoxes was only a peculiarly depraved form of coquetry.
A map, which she had copied very neatly, was exhibited, and a manuscript book of poems, of her own selection, written very correctly, in a fine flowing hand. "Really, this is encouraging," said Mr. Blumenthal, as she left the room.
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