I caught a glimpse on the morrow of this ladylike person, who was arriving at her new residence as I came in from a walk.She had come in a cab, with her daughter and her luggage; and, with an air of perfect softness and serenity, she was disputing the fare as she stood among her boxes, on the steps.She addressed her cabman in a very English accent, but with extreme precision and correctness."Iwish to be perfectly reasonable, but I don't wish to encourage you in exorbitant demands.With a franc and a half you are sufficiently paid.It is not the custom at Geneva to give a pour-boire for so short a drive.I have made inquiries, and I find it is not the custom, even in the best families.I am a stranger, yes, but Ialways adopt the custom of the native families.I think it my duty toward the natives.""But I am a native, too, moi!" said the cabman, with an angry laugh.
"You seem to me to speak with a German accent," continued the lady.
"You are probably from Basel.A franc and a half is sufficient.Isee you have left behind the little red bag which I asked you to hold between your knees; you will please to go back to the other house and get it.Very well, if you are impolite I will make a complaint of you to-morrow at the administration.Aurora, you will find a pencil in the outer pocket of my embroidered satchel; please to write down his number,--87; do you see it distinctly?--in case we should forget it."The young lady addressed as "Aurora"--a slight, fair girl, holding a large parcel of umbrellas--stood at hand while this allocution went forward, but she apparently gave no heed to it.She stood looking about her, in a listless manner, at the front of the house, at the corridor, at Celestine tucking up her apron in the doorway, at me as I passed in amid the disseminated luggage; her mother's parsimonious attitude seeming to produce in Miss Aurora neither sympathy nor embarrassment.At dinner the two ladies were placed on the same side of the table as myself, below Mrs.Ruck and her daughter, my own position being on the right of Mr.Ruck.I had therefore little observation of Mrs.Church--such I learned to be her name--but Ioccasionally heard her soft, distinct voice.
"White wine, if you please; we prefer white wine.There is none on the table? Then you will please to get some, and to remember to place a bottle of it always here, between my daughter and myself.""That lady seems to know what she wants," said Mr.Ruck, "and she speaks so I can understand her.I can't understand every one, over here.I should like to make that lady's acquaintance.Perhaps she knows what _I_ want, too; it seems hard to find out.But I don't want any of their sour white wine; that's one of the things I don't want.I expect she'll be an addition to the pension."Mr.Ruck made the acquaintance of Mrs.Church that evening in the parlour, being presented to her by his wife, who presumed on the rights conferred upon herself by the mutual proximity, at table, of the two ladies.I suspected that in Mrs.Church's view Mrs.Ruck presumed too far.The fugitive from the Pension Chamousset, as M.
Pigeonneau called her, was a little fresh, plump, comely woman, looking less than her age, with a round, bright, serious face.She was very simply and frugally dressed, not at all in the manner of Mr.
Ruck's companions, and she had an air of quiet distinction which was an excellent defensive weapon.She exhibited a polite disposition to listen to what Mr.Ruck might have to say, but her manner was equivalent to an intimation that what she valued least in boarding-house life was its social opportunities.She had placed herself near a lamp, after carefully screwing it and turning it up, and she had opened in her lap, with the assistance of a large embroidered marker, an octavo volume, which I perceived to be in German.To Mrs.Ruck and her daughter she was evidently a puzzle, with her economical attire and her expensive culture.The two younger ladies, however, had begun to fraternise very freely, and Miss Ruck presently went wandering out of the room with her arm round the waist of Miss Church.It was a very warm evening; the long windows of the salon stood wide open into the garden, and, inspired by the balmy darkness, M.Pigeonneau and Mademoiselle Beaurepas, a most obliging little woman, who lisped and always wore a huge cravat, declared they would organise a fete de nuit.They engaged in this undertaking, and the fete developed itself, consisting of half-a-dozen red paper lanterns, hung about on the trees, and of several glasses of sirop, carried on a tray by the stout-armed Celestine.As the festival deepened to its climax I went out into the garden, where M.Pigeonneau was master of ceremonies.
"But where are those charming young ladies," he cried, "Miss Ruck and the new-comer, l'aimable transfuge? Their absence has been remarked, and they are wanting to the brilliancy of the occasion.Voyez I have selected a glass of syrup--a generous glass--for Mademoiselle Ruck, and I advise you, my young friend, if you wish to make a good impression, to put aside one which you may offer to the other young lady.What is her name? Miss Church.I see; it's a singular name.
There is a church in which I would willingly worship!"Mr.Ruck presently came out of the salon, having concluded his interview with Mrs.Church.Through the open window I saw the latter lady sitting under the lamp with her German octavo, while Mrs.Ruck, established, empty-handed, in an arm-chair near her, gazed at her with an air of fascination.
