Free The Well of Loneliness by Radclyffe Hall

Mademoiselle Duphot, a youthful French governess with a long, pleasant face that reminded Stephen of a horse. This equine resemblance was fortunate in one way—Stephen took to Mademoiselle Duphot at once—but it did not make for respectful obedience. On the contrary, Stephen felt very familiar, kindly familiar and quite at her ease; she petted Mademoiselle Duphot. Mademoiselle Duphot was lonely and homesick, and it must be admitted that she liked being petted. Stephen would rush off to get her a cushion, or a footstool or her glass of milk at eleven.
    ‘Comme elle est gentille, cette drôle de petite fine, elle a si bon coeur,’ would think Mademoiselle Duphot, and somehow geography would not seem to matter quite so much, or arithmetic either—in vain did Mademoiselle try to be strict, her pupil could always beguile her.
    Mademoiselle Duphot knew nothing about horses, in spite of the r fact that she looked so much like one, and Stephen would complacently entertain her with long conversation anent splints and spavins, cow hocks and colic, all mixed up together in a kind of wild veterinary jumble. Had Williams been listening, he might well have rubbed his chin, but Williams was not there to listen.
    As for Mademoiselle Duphot, she was genuinely impressed: ‘Mais quel type, quel type!’ she was always exclaiming. ‘Vous ętes déjŕ une vraie petite Amazone, Stévenne.’
    ‘N’est-ce pas?’ agreed Stephen, who was picking up French.
    The child showed real ability for French, and this delighted her teacher; at the end of six months she could gabble quite freely, making quick little gestures and shrugging her shoulders. She liked talking French, it rather amused her, nor was she averse to mastering the grammar; what she could not endure were the long, foolish dictées from the edifying Bibliothčque Rose. Weak in all other respects with Stephen, Mademoiselle Duphot clung to these dictées; the Bibliothčque Rose became her last trench of authority, and she held it.
    ‘“Les Petites Filles Modčles”,’ Mademoiselle would announce, while Stephen yawned out her ineffable boredom; ‘Maintenant nous allons retrouver Sophie—Where to did we arrive? Ah, oui, I remember: “Cette preuve de confiance toucha Sophie et augmenta encore son regret d’avoir été si méchante.
    ‘“Comment, se dit-elle, ai-je pu me livrer a une telle colčre? Comment ai-je été si méchante avec des amies aussi bonnes que celles que j’ai id, et si hardie envers une personne aussi douce, aussi tendre que Mme. de Fleurville!”’
    From time to time the programme would be varied by extracts of an even more edifying nature, and ‘Les Bons Enfants’ would be chosen for dictation, to the scorn and derision of Stephen.
    ‘La Maman, Donne-lui ton coeur, mon Henri; c’est ce que to pourras lui dormer de plus agréable.
    ‘—Mon coeur? Dit Henri en déboutonnant son habit et en ouvrant sa chemise. Mais comment faire? il me faudrait un couteau.’ At which Stephen would giggle.
    One day she had added a comment of her own in the margin: ‘Little beast, he was only shamming!’ and Mademoiselle, coming on this unawares, had been caught in the act of laughing by her pupil. After which there was naturally less discipline than ever in the schoolroom, but considerably more friendship.
    However, Anna seemed quite contented, since Stephen was becoming so proficient in French; and observing that his wife looked less anxious these days, Sir Philip said nothing, biding his time. This frank, jaunty, slacking on the part of his daughter should be checked later on he decided. Meanwhile, Stephen grew fond of the mild-faced Frenchwoman, who in her turn adored the unusual child. She would confide her troubles to Stephen, those family troubles in which governesses abound—her Maman was old and delicate and needy; her sister had a wicked and spendthrift husband, and now her sister must make little bags for the grand shops in Paris that paid very badly, her