CHAPTER XIII.
A SNEEZE OUT OF SEASON.
I had occasion to smile--nay, to laugh, at Madame again, within the
space of four and twenty hours after the little scene treated of in
the last chapter.
Villette owns a climate as variable, though not so humid, as that of
any English town. A night of high wind followed upon that soft sunset,
and all the next day was one of dry storm--dark, beclouded, yet
rainless,--the streets were dim with sand and dust, whirled from the
boulevards. I know not that even lovely weather would have tempted me
to spend the evening-time of study and recreation where I had spent it
yesterday. My alley, and, indeed, all the walks and shrubs in the
garden, had acquired a new, but not a pleasant interest; their
seclusion was now become precarious; their calm--insecure. That
casement which rained billets, had vulgarized the once dear nook it
overlooked; and elsewhere, the eyes of the flowers had gained vision,
and the knots in the tree-boles listened like secret ears. Some plants
there were, indeed, trodden down by Dr. John in his search, and his
hasty and heedless progress, which I wished to prop up, water, and
revive; some footmarks, too, he had left on the beds: but these, in
spite of the strong wind, I found a moment's leisure to efface very
early in the morning, ere common eyes had discovered them. With a
pensive sort of content, I sat down to my desk and my German, while
the pupils settled to their evening lessons; and the other teachers
took up their needlework.
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