and his red waistcoat rose and fell in jerks.

Mademoiselle Servien, who sat by at the lesson knitting a stocking
and for some moments had been watching the tutor, her spectacles
pushed half-way up her forehead, with a look of amazement and
suspicion, exclaimed, as if talking to herself:

"If it isn't abominable to come to people's houses in drink!"

Monsieur Tudesco did not seem to hear her. His manner was quiet
and jocular again.

"Child," he ordered, "write down the theme for an essay. Write
down: 'The worst thing... yes, the worst thing of all,' write
it down... 'is an old woman with a spiteful temper.'"

And rising with the gracious dignity of a Prince of the Church,
he bowed low to the aunt, gave the nephew's cheek a friendly
tap, and marched out of the room.

However, beginning with the very next lesson, he lavished every
mark of respect on the old lady, and treated her to all his choicest
airs and graces, rounding his elbows, pursing his lips, strutting
and swaggering. She would not relax a muscle, and sat there as
silent and sulky as an owl.

But one day when she was hunting for her spectacles, as she was
always doing, Monsieur Tudesco offered her his and persuaded her
to try them; she found they suited her sight and felt a trifle
less unamiable towards him. The Italian, pursuing his advantage,