For two days I have been hesitating whether to tell my father
point-blank that I want no more Spanish lessons and have Henarez sent
about his business. But in spite of all my brave resolutions, I feel
that the horrible sensation which comes over me when I see that man
has become necessary to me. I say to myself, "Once more, and then I
will speak."

His voice, my dear, is sweetly thrilling; his speaking is just like la
Fodor's singing. His manners are simple, entirely free from
affectation. And what teeth!

Just now, as he was leaving, he seemed to divine the interest I take
in him, and made a gesture--oh! most respectfully--as though to take
my hand and kiss it; then checked himself, apparently terrified at his
own boldness and the chasm he had been on the point of bridging. There
was the merest suggestion of all this, but I understood it and smiled,
for nothing is more pathetic than to see the frank impulse of an
inferior checking itself abashed. The love of a plebeian for a girl of
noble birth implies such courage!

My smile emboldened him. The poor fellow looked blindly about for his
hat; he seemed determined not to find it, and I handed it to him with
perfect gravity. His eyes were wet with unshed tears. It was a mere
passing moment, yet a world of facts and ideas were contained in it.
We understood each other so well that, on a sudden, I held out my hand
for him to kiss.

Possibly this was equivalent to telling him that love might bridge the
interval between us. Well, I cannot tell what moved me to do it.
Griffith had her back turned as I proudly extended my little white