The day after the flight of the Canoness, as Fraeulein Leopoldine needed a companion, Mademoiselle Suzon had moved into the vacant tower-room below me. From this time, also, the Frenchwoman was present at the history lessons, during which she made herself very troublesome by asking foolish questions and coquettishly endeavoring to turn the tiresome teaching into empty conversation. But I said nothing about it, knowing that a complaint to the baron would have been futile. Neither did I trouble myself about the extraordinary marks of favor with which the cunning creature began to annoy me. One of the least of these was, that I rarely returned home from a walk without finding in my room a bouquet of flowers or a few choice fruits, filched from the garden or the green-house. Even at table she did not restrain herself in the least from making all sorts of advances to me, praising my lessons, repeating admirable remarks of which I had no recollection, and keeping up a fusillade of glances, which greatly incensed me, because it seemed to show distinctly that we were on the best possible terms with each other. In my innocence, I was mainly disturbed lest it should place me in a false light before the eyes of my employer and his wife. To Uncle Joachim I had made no secret of my dislike. The baroness's confidence in my honor and virtue, however, seemed immovable, and the baron appeared to be merely amused by this shadow of flirtation between his awkward tutor and the family friend, without seeing any cause for suspicion in it. The affair pursued its course in this way for several weeks. Sometimes, from the open window beneath mine, I heard, instead of the dear "Orpheus" melody, most unmusical sighs and incoherent French verses, declaimed to moon and stars, but whose real object I knew only too well. Then I shut my own casement with an intentionally loud slam, and preferred to dispense with the delicious coolness of the autumn night rather than seem to listen to the tender soliloquies of this detestable hypocrite. She perceived that she made no progress in this way, and resolved to risk a bold stroke. It had already happened several times--accidentally, as I, unsuspicious novice, supposed--that, when going up to my room, I passed the Fraeulein's door just at the moment she was putting her shoes outside. I had then forced myself to exchange a few courteous words with her, but escaped her efforts to carry on a more familiar conversation in the dimly-lighted corridor as quickly as possible by a hasty "_Bonne nuit, mademoiselle!_" How different would have been my demeanor if my former neighbor in the tower, whose shoes and speech were both less ornate, had met me here even once to say good-night!