The TruantsMason, A. E. W. (Alfred Edward Woodley)
General
The Truants
Mason, A. E. W. (Alfred Edward Woodley)
Fiction
M. Giraud kept his engagement punctually. The clock chimed upon the
mantelpiece a few seconds after he was standing in the drawing-room of
the Villa Pontignard, and before the clock had stopped chiming Mrs.
Mardale came in to him. She was a tall woman, who, in spite of her
years, still retained the elegance of her youth, but her face was hard
and a trifle querulous, and M. Giraud was utterly intimidated. On the
other hand, she had good manners, and the friendly simplicity with
which she greeted him began to set him at his ease.
"You are a native of Roquebrune, Monsieur?" said she.
"No, Madame, my father was a peasant at Aigues-Mortes. I was born
there," he replied frankly.
"Yet you write, if I may say so, with the love of a native for his
village," she went on. M. Giraud was on the point of explaining. Mrs.
Mardale, however, was not in the least interested in his explanation,
and she asked him to sit down.
"My daughter, Monsieur, has an English governess," she explained, "but
it seems a pity that she should spend her winters here and lose the
chance of becoming really proficient in French. The curé recommended
me to apply to you, and I sent for you to see whether we could arrange
that you should read history with her in French during your spare
hours."
M. Giraud felt his head turning. Here was his opportunity so long
dreamed of come at last. It might be the beginning of a career--it was
at all events that first difficult step outwards. He was to be the
teacher in appearance; at the bottom of his heart he knew that he was
to be the pupil, he accepted the offer with enthusiasm, and the
arrangements were made. Three afternoons a week he was to spend an
hour at the Villa Pontignard.
"Well, I hope the plan will succeed, said Mrs. Mardale, but she spoke
in a voice which showed that she had no great hopes of success. And as
M. Giraud replied that he would at all events do his best, she
rejoined plaintively--
"It is not of you, Monsieur, that I have any doubts. But you do not
know my daughter. She will learn nothing which she does not want to
learn, she will not endure any governess who is not entirely her
slave, and she is fifteen and she really must learn something."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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