A bluff little personage this maitresse was--Labassecourienne from top to toe: and how she did slaughter the speech of Albion! However, I told her a plain tale, which she translated.

I told her how I had left my own country, intent on extending my knowledge, and gaining my bread; how I was ready to turn my hand to any useful thing, provided it was not wrong or degrading; how I would be a child's-nurse, or a lady's-maid, and would not refuse even housework adapted to my strength.

Madame heard this; and, questioning her countenance, I almost thought the tale won her ear: "Il n'y a que les Anglaises pour ces sortes d'entreprises," said she: "sont-elles donc intrepides ces femmes la!" She asked my name, my age; she sat and looked at me--not pityingly, not with interest: never a gleam of sympathy, or a shade of compassion, crossed her countenance during the interview.

I felt she was not one to be led an inch by her feelings: grave and considerate, she gazed, consulting her judgment and studying my narrative.

A bell rang.
"Voila pour la priere du soir!" said she, and rose.