"The Marquis came from time to time, and his visits were the darkest spots in Edmee's quiet life. He was more gentle to her and her mother than to anyone else, but nevertheless the child shrank from him with indescribable dislike and fear. She could not bear the cold contempt underlying his courteous tones, and some remarks she once overheard as to his becoming her guardian, in case of her mother's death, made an impression on her she never forgot,--though, just because she thought of it with such terror perhaps, she could not bear to speak of it to the Countess. "All these years the mother devoted herself to Edmee's education, which she was well fitted to do. She was herself of great intelligence, and had learnt much from her studious husband. Edmee never had at Valmont any teacher but her mother, or any attendant of more importance than the young girl who had been her maid ever since Madame Germain had left her. And in some things Madame Germain still had a charge of her former nursling. It was she who taught Edmee all sorts of fine and beautiful needlework. It was under her direction that the young lady of the chateau worked the set of chairs which, as I write, are still wonderfully fresh and beautiful in the best parlour here. It was she, too, who taught her how to nurse the sick, to dress wounds and burns, to distil scented waters, and make simple salves, and brew _tisanes_, or warm drinks made from different kinds of herbs, which are very useful as household remedies. It was a quiet, simple life--compared with that of most ladies of their time. It appeared, I daresay, old-fashioned, and the Countess had taken an unusual course, and set at variance the opinions of her brother and other friends, in keeping Edmee at home instead of sending her to be educated at a convent. "Till the year Edmee was ten years old--that was the year 1787--she had never again seen her cousin Edmond. She and Pierre often talked of him, for in her secluded life his two days' visit had been an event she had never forgotten: they wondered how he was growing up, if he were less petulant and self-willed, if he were strong and healthy now--for Pierre especially had always an idea that to be delicate and sickly was an excuse for almost anything; he, who had never known a day's illness, scarcely an hour's discomfort, could imagine nothing more unbearable. And when her uncle came to Valmont, Edmee always inquired with pretty courtesy, and at the same time with real interest, for the poor boy, though the answers she received never gave her much satisfaction. "`Edmond was quite well--would be much honoured by his cousin's remembrance of him,' the Marquis would reply, with the half-mocking courtesy the little girl so disliked. But once she overheard some careless words of his to her mother which roused her old pity for the boy.