Маленька принцеса
A French Lesson
"Iamsorryofthat,mademoiselle,"hesaidkindlytoSara."Perhaps,whenwebegintostudytogether,Imayshowyouthatitisacharmingtongue."
LittleSararoseinherseat.Shewasbeginningtofeelratherdesperate,asifshewerealmostindisgrace.ShelookedupintoMonsieurDufarge’sfacewithherbig,green-grayeyes,andtheywerequiteinnocentlyappealing.Sheknewthathewouldunderstandassoonasshespoke.ShebegantoexplainquitesimplyinprettyandfluentFrench.Madamehadnotunderstood.ShehadnotlearnedFrenchexactly—notoutofbooks—butherpapaandotherpeoplehadalwaysspokenittoher,andshehadreaditandwrittenitasshehadreadandwrittenEnglish.Herpapalovedit,andsheloveditbecausehedid.Herdearmamma,whohaddiedwhenshewasborn,hadbeenFrench.Shewouldbegladtolearnanythingmonsieurwouldteachher,butwhatshehadtriedtoexplaintomadamewasthatshealreadyknewthewordsinthisbook—andsheheldoutthelittlebookofphrases.
WhenshebegantospeakMissMinchinstartedquiteviolentlyandsatstaringatheroverhereyeglasses,almostindignantly,untilshehadfinished.MonsieurDufargebegantosmile,andhissmilewasoneofgreatpleasure.Tohearthisprettychildishvoicespeakinghisownlanguagesosimplyandcharminglymadehimfeelalmostasifhewereinhisnativeland—whichindark,foggydaysinLondonsometimesseemedworldsaway.Whenshehadfinished,hetookthephrasebookfromher,withalookalmostaffectionate.ButhespoketoMissMinchin.
"Ah,madame,"hesaid,"thereisnotmuchIcanteachher.ShehasnotLEARNEDFrench;sheisFrench.Heraccentisexquisite."
"Yououghttohavetoldme,"exclaimedMissMinchin,muchmortified,turningtoSara.
