must support it; only she must not meet M. Heger alone: and one must constantly take precautions, in this sense, against scenes.' Well, was there anything very cruel, or hard-hearted, or vindictive, in Madame Heger's conduct? If you are a psychologist, put yourself in her place. What could she have done with this entanglement of circumstances, all menacing what she most valued, a watchful preservation of 'convenience,' most necessary in a Pensionnat de _Jeunes Filles_ of high repute? If any one will suggest a plan that would have been more considerate to Charlotte than the one she took, I should very much like to hear what plan? Even then, in the light of what I know of Madame Heger's incapability of a deliberate desire to torture, or inflict severe punishment on any pupil, or teacher, or living thing, I should still protest confidently that in all she did--that sweet and kind old schoolmistress of mine--in the days when she was twenty years younger than when I knew her--she _meant_ to be considerate and kind. Without attempting to decide who, between Charlotte and Madame Heger, was to blame, or whether either of them were to blame, here, at any rate, we have the conditions of feeling between these two women: each exasperated against the other, under the strain of a forced politeness, during the last seven months of Charlotte's residence in Bruxelles. No doubt, for both of them the strain was great. All this time (without saying it out aloud) Madame Heger was forcing upon Charlotte's attention, the '_inconvenience_' of her presence in the Pensionnat; the necessity for her return to England. All this time Charlotte--outwardly compliant with all the demands made upon her, that keep her writing letters at Madame's dictation (_in the hours when Monsieur is giving his lessons in class_), that send her upon messages to the other end of Bruxelles (_upon holidays when Monsieur's habit is to trim the vine above the Berceau in the garden_)--all this time, Charlotte's bitter protest spoke out in the gaze she fastened on the Directress: 'Merciless woman that you are! _you_ who have everything; who are his wife, the mother of his children, whom he loves; who will enjoy his conversation and his society, and the pleasant home you share with him, all your life; and who grudge me--I, who have nothing of all this, but who love him more--I, who in a few months must go out into the dark world, without the light his presence is to me; without the music his voice makes for me; without the delight his conversation is to my mind, and the complete satisfaction his society brings to my whole nature--and you grudge me these few months of happiness? Rich and cruel woman, who, in your selfish life possess all this, you are more cruel than Dives was to Lazarus; you grudge me even the crumbs that fall from your table.' [1] _Life of C.B._, p. 254. [2] _Life_, p. 258. CHAPTER IV THE CONFESSIONS AT ST. GUDULE