2. A French Lesson

A Little Princess

by Francis Hodgson Burnett

When Sara entered the schoolroom the next morning everybody looked
at her with wide, interested eyes. By that time every pupil-- from
Lavinia Herbert, who was nearly thirteen and felt quite grown up, to
Lottie Legh, who was only just four and the baby of the school-- had
heard a great deal about her. They knew very certainly that she was
Miss Minchin's show pupil and was considered a credit to the
establishment. One or two of them had even caught a glimpse of her
French maid, Mariette, who had arrived the evening before. Lavinia
had managed to pass Sara's room when the door was open, and had seen
Mariette opening a box which had arrived late from some shop.

"It was full of petticoats with lace frills on them--frills and
frills," she whispered to her friend Jessie as she bent over her
geography. "I saw her shaking them out. I heard Miss Minchin say to
Miss Amelia that her clothes were so grand that they were ridiculous
for a child. My mamma says that children should be dressed simply.
She has got one of those petticoats on now. I saw it when she sat
down."

"She has silk stockings on!" whispered Jessie, bending over her
geography also. "And what little feet! I never saw such little
feet."

"Oh," sniffed Lavinia, spitefully, "that is the way her slippers
are made. My mamma says that even big feet can be made to look small
if you have a clever shoemaker. I don't think she is pretty at all.
Her eyes are such a queer color."

"She isn't pretty as other pretty people are," said Jessie,
stealing a glance across the room; "but she makes you want to look at
her again. She has tremendously long eyelashes, but her eyes are
almost green."

Sara was sitting quietly in her seat, waiting to be told what to
do. She had been placed near Miss Minchin's desk. She was not
abashed at all by the many pairs of eyes watching her. She was
interested and looked back quietly at the children who looked at her.
She wondered what they were thinking of, and if they liked Miss
Minchin, and if they cared for their lessons, and if any of them had
a papa at all like her own. She had had a long talk with Emily about
her papa that morning.

"He is on the sea now, Emily," she had said. "We must be very
great friends to each other and tell each other things. Emily, look
at me. You have the nicest eyes I ever saw--but I wish you could
speak."

She was a child full of imaginings and whimsical thoughts, and
one of her fancies was that there would be a great deal of comfort in
even pretending that Emily was alive and really heard and understood.
After Mariette had dressed her in her dark-blue schoolroom frock and
tied her hair with a dark-blue ribbon, she went to Emily, who sat in
a chair of her own, and gave her a book.

"You can read that while I am downstairs," she said; and, seeing
Mariette looking at her curiously, she spoke to her with a serious
little face.

"What I believe about dolls," she said, "is that they can do
things they will not let us know about. Perhaps, really, Emily can
read and talk and walk, but she will only do it when people are out
of the room. That is her secret. You see, if people knew that dolls
could do things, they would make them work. So, perhaps, they have
promised each other to keep it a secret. If you stay in the room,
Emily will just sit there and stare; but if you go out, she will
begin to read, perhaps, or go and look out of the window. Then if she
heard either of us coming, she would just run back and jump into her
chair and pretend she had been there all the time."

"Comme elle est drole!" Mariette said to herself, and when she
went downstairs she told the head housemaid about it. But she had
already begun to like this odd little girl who had such an
intelligent small face and such perfect manners. She had taken care
of children before who were not so polite. Sara was a very fine
little person, and had a gentle, appreciative way of saying, "If you
please, Mariette," "Thank you, Mariette," which was very charming.
Mariette told the head housemaid that she thanked her as if she was
thanking a lady.

"Elle a l'air d'une princesse, cette petite," she said. Indeed,
she was very much pleased with her new little mistress and liked her
place greatly.

After Sara had sat in her seat in the schoolroom for a few
minutes, being looked at by the pupils, Miss Minchin rapped in a
dignified manner upon her desk.

"Young ladies," she said, "I wish to introduce you to your new
companion." All the little girls rose in their places, and Sara rose
also. "I shall expect you all to be very agreeable to Miss Crewe;
she has just come to us from a great distance--in fact, from India.
As soon as lessons are over you must make each other's
acquaintance."

The pupils bowed ceremoniously, and Sara made a little curtsy,
and then they sat down and looked at each other again.

"Sara," said Miss Minchin in her schoolroom manner, "come here
to me."

She had taken a book from the desk and was turning over its
leaves. Sara went to her politely.

"As your papa has engaged a French maid for you," she began, "I
conclude that he wishes you to make a special study of the French
language."

Sara felt a little awkward.

"I think he engaged her," she said, "because he--he thought I
would like her, Miss Minchin."

"I am afraid," said Miss Minchin, with a slightly sour smile,
"that you have been a very spoiled little girl and always imagine
that things are done because you like them. My impression is that
your papa wished you to learn French."

If Sara had been older or less punctilious about being quite
polite to people, she could have explained herself in a very few
words. But, as it was, she felt a flush rising on her cheeks. Miss
Minchin was a very severe and imposing person, and she seemed so
absolutely sure that Sara knew nothing whatever of French that she
felt as if it would be almost rude to correct her. The truth was
that Sara could not remember the time when she had not seemed to know
French. Her father had often spoken it to her when she had been a
baby. Her mother had been a French woman, and Captain Crewe had loved
her language, so it happened that Sara had always heard and been
familiar with it.

"I--I have never really learned French, but--but--" she began,
trying shyly to make herself clear.

One of Miss Minchin's chief secret annoyances was that she did
not speak French herself, and was desirous of concealing the
irritating fact. She, therefore, had no intention of discussing the
matter and laying herself open to innocent questioning by a new
little pupil.

"That is enough," she said with polite tartness. "If you have
not learned, you must begin at once. The French master, Monsieur
Dufarge, will be here in a few minutes. Take this book and look at
it until he arrives."

Sara's cheeks felt warm. She went back to her seat and opened
the book. She looked at the first page with a grave face. She knew
it would be rude to smile, and she was very determined not to be
rude. But it was very odd to find herself expected to study a page
which told her that "le pere" meant "the father," and "la mere" meant
"the mother."

Miss Minchin glanced toward her scrutinizingly.

"You look rather cross, Sara," she said. "I am sorry you do not
like the idea of learning French."

"I am very fond of it," answered Sara, thinking she would try
again; "but--"

"You must not say `but' when you are told to do things," said
Miss Minchin. "Look at your book again."

And Sara did so, and did not smile, even when she found that "le
fils" meant "the son," and "le frere" meant "the brother."

"When Monsieur Dufarge comes," she thought, "I can make him
understand."

Monsieur Dufarge arrived very shortly afterward. He was a very
nice, intelligent, middle-aged Frenchman, and he looked interested
when his eyes fell upon Sara trying politely to seem absorbed in her
little book of phrases.

"Is this a new pupil for me, madame?" he said to Miss Minchin.
"I hope that is my good fortune."

"Her papa--Captain Crewe--is very anxious that she should begin
the language. But I am afraid she has a childish prejudice against
it. She does not seem to wish to learn," said Miss Minchin.

"I am sorry of that, mademoiselle," he said kindly to Sara.
"Perhaps, when we begin to study together, I may show you that it is
a charming tongue."

Little Sara rose in her seat. She was beginning to feel rather
desperate, as if she were almost in disgrace. She looked up into
Monsieur Dufarge's face with her big, green-gray eyes, and they were
quite innocently appealing. She knew that he would understand as
soon as she spoke. She began to explain quite simply in pretty and
fluent French. Madame had not understood. She had not learned French
exactly--not out of books--but her papa and other people had always
spoken it to her, and she had read it and written it as she had read
and written English. Her papa loved it, and she loved it because he
did. Her dear mamma, who had died when she was born, had been
French. She would be glad to learn anything monsieur would teach
her, but what she had tried to explain to madame was that she already
knew the words in this book-- and she held out the little book of
phrases.

When she began to speak Miss Minchin started quite violently and
sat staring at her over her eyeglasses, almost indignantly, until she
had finished. Monsieur Dufarge began to smile, and his smile was one
of great pleasure. To hear this pretty childish voice speaking his
own language so simply and charmingly made him feel almost as if he
were in his native land--which in dark, foggy days in London
sometimes seemed worlds away. When she had finished, he took the
phrase book from her, with a look almost affectionate. But he spoke
to Miss Minchin.

"Ah, madame," he said, "there is not much I can teach her. She
has not learned French; she is French. Her accent is exquisite."

"You ought to have told me," exclaimed Miss Minchin, much
mortified, turning to Sara.

"I--I tried," said Sara. "I--I suppose I did not begin
right."

Miss Minchin knew she had tried, and that it had not been her
fault that she was not allowed to explain. And when she saw that the
pupils had been listening and that Lavinia and Jessie were giggling
behind their French grammars, she felt infuriated.

"Silence, young ladies!" she said severely, rapping upon the
desk. "Silence at once!"

And she began from that minute to feel rather a grudge against
her show pupil.