"That is true," said I, a little taken down; "but one can accomplish so much more. My mother can spin more with the wheel in an hour than one can do with the distaff in half a day, and I am sure the thread is more even." "Ah, well, the method of my grandmother is good enough for me," said Lucille. "I am a Norman girl, and not an English lady." And she took up her distaff as she spoke, and began drawing out her flax with a care and attention which showed she was offended. "Do you think, Mamselle Vevette, that madame would condescend to let me look at this wheel of hers?" said David. "I should like so much to see it." "Why, do you think you could make one like it?" I asked. "Oh, do, David! Make one for Lucille, and I will teach her to use it." "Thank you!" said Lucille in a tone which did not bespeak much gratitude. "I have already said that Norman fashions are good enough for me." And then, softening her tone as she saw how mortified I was, "I dare say David would like to make a wheel, and if he succeeded, you would have one of your own as well as madame." I may as well say here that, after many efforts and failures, and by the help of his uncle, who was the blacksmith at Sartilly, David succeeded in constructing a very nice spinning-wheel, which he presented to me on my birthday. I wonder whether that wheel is still in use, or whether it has been thrown aside in some garret? [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER III. YOUTHFUL DAYS. I MUST now pass somewhat rapidly over four or five years of my life. These years were spent quietly at home with my dear father and mother at the Tour d'Antin. I was my mother's constant companion, and she instructed me herself in all that she thought it desirable for me to know, which was much more than was considered necessary for demoiselles in general. I learned to read and write both English and Italian, and I read many books in the former language which my mother had brought from home, or which had been sent to her from England since her marriage. These books would hardly have passed any French custom-house, for a very sharp lookout was kept at these places for heretical publications; but there were two or three vessels sailing from small ports on the coast, and commanded by persons of the Religion, by means of which, at rare intervals, my mother used to receive a package or letter from her friends in England. Thus she become possessed of a copy of that most excellent book, "The Whole Duty of Man," which I read till I knew it almost by heart; "The Practice of Piety," Mr. Taylor's "Holy Living and Dying," and other excellent religious books of which that age, dissolute as it was, produced a great many. Sometimes my mother received other books and pamphlets, which she would not allow me even to look at, and many of which she burned with her own hands. These were plays and stories written by such authors as were in favor at the court of King Charles II.