48.
I'm beginning to think that I must have something pleasant about my face, because nearly everyone I meet takes a friendly attitude toward me. It didn't take more than five minutes for Emile Chartier and myself to become friends and give each other a big handshake. Emile Chartier is the soldier I was just telling you about. He is French Canadian and, while waiting to go to the Front, he serves as orderly to my master.
While he was relating this information we saw Zidore arrive, red-faced and out of breath. As soon as he noticed me he cried, "Ah! There you are, Mam'zelle Bécassine! Where have you been these two hours since your train came in? I was running around searching for you, while Emile was on the lookout here." I told him the story. The episode with the cab amused him very much. "All the same," he said, "not knowing English cost you a lot of money."
"Ah well!" said Emile, "She has to learn. I shall be the teacher. I know how to go about it. I was once a servant in a Berlitz school in Québec." While we were talking, we entered the house. Emile led us into the dining room and opened the buffet, saying, "We shall begin our lesson right away."
He produced a glass, a knife, a napkin and a spoon. He set them on the table, placing each one down with a serious, attentive care. Me, I couldn't see how these utensils could amount to an English lesson. I asked, jokingly, "Are you going to perform a trick, Monsieur Emile?"
That made Zidore laugh, but Emile responded, annoyed, "I am not a conjurer, I am the teacher. Let us begin. But, first, Zidore, do me the favour of going out. In the Berlitz method, the teacher must be alone with the student." Zidore preferred to stay in, but Emile would not allow it.
When we were alone he put himself by my side, and he directed, "French is not permitted. I shall say some English words. You will repeat them until you have them firmly in your head, and you will try to understand from my movements what they mean."
49.
Then he made a grand gesture with his right arm and said, "Glass."
I made exactly the same gesture and repeated, "Glass. -- Glass. -- Glass. -- Glass."
Next, it was the same motion, but with the left hand, crying, "Fork."
And then Emile said, and myself after him, "Clock, clock, clock," lifting both arms to the wall.
This exercise amused me a lot. I gesticulated, and repeated I don't know how many times, "Glass, fork, clock," shouting them at the top of my voice to make them stick in my head.
Just when I was shouting the loudest, Monsieur and Madame came in. "What's going on? You're making an awful racket. They can hear you in the street." I explained that I was having an English lesson. They said that it was fine as long as it was not so noisy. Then Emile left with the lieutenant.
Now it was up to me to bring Madame up to date on my adventures. When I had finished, she came back to the English lesson. "You already know some words, Bécassine?" "Yes, Madame, I know glass, fork and clock." "Very good, you are quite a learner. And they mean?"
"Madame, I know it well. Glass is to move the right arm. Fork is to move the left arm. And clock is to raise both arms."
Madame looked at me with a stupifed air, then she burst out in crazy laughter. She is so young.
I felt sheepish. When she had stopped laughing, Madame showed me le verre, la fourchette and une horloge on the wall, saying, "This is a glass, this is a fork and that is a clock." I hadn't understood Emile's gestures at all.
Now I wonder if I'll continue my lessons. I have a good memory, so I believe I can arrive at speaking English, but I worry that it will be without understanding what I am saying.
50.
Bertrand de Grabd-Air's time in England was short. He warned Bécassine that they they would be leaving again in a few days. "I'm giving you the afternoons off," added Madame de Grand-Air. "Use them to explore London."
Bécassine thanked them, and, in the company of Zidore and Emile, she tirelessly investigated the great city, admiring and marvelling ceaselessly.
The Tower of London, and the picturesque costumes of the Beefeaters, amazed her especially. "I thought," she said, "that all the Britiash officers and soldiers wore khaki."
"Yes, all of them," agreed Zidore, always looking for a way to mystify her, "except for the Lords of the Court." And Bécassine curtseyed reverently, which surprised the guards, despite their famous English imperturbability.
Over the course of their rambles, the brave girl carefully read out the the shop signs ad was enchanted whenever she encountered word she recognized, like Tramway, Five O'Clock, and revolver. "I'm beginning to understand English," she said.
Emile puffed himself up. "It's not surprising," he assured her, "when you have a good teacher."
He went on to give her a daily lesson, the master and the student rivalling in zeal, but without what anyone would consider a brilliant result.
But one evening in the course of a lesson, needing a piece of paper to write down a note, Bécassine explored her pocket. She took out an envelope, and as soon as she saw it her face took on an desolate expression.
"Ah! My God," she cried, "it's the letter with the little flower that Major Tacy-Turn gave me to deliver to Miss Grace, his fiancée. I forgot all about it."
"You'll have to go tomorrow," said Emile. "And," added Zidore, "you'll have to send a note to Miss right away, to make sure that you find her at home."
Bécassine nodded her head wisely at this double advice. Under the direction and supervision of Emile, she composed a letter in English, which she hastened to drop in the mail. The next day, at the given hour, guided by her two friends ...
51.
... she arrived at the address given by the Major. She found a townhouse, small and unassuming, but with an appearance of comfort. At the door a worrying thought overtook her. "If the Miss doesn't speak French," she wondered, "how will I explain myself to her?"
Emile undertook to reassure her. "You're beginning to understand English," he said.
"But there are still plenty of words I don't understand. What will I do if don't understand something?"
Emile considered it, then gave this advice: "Say, Yes. That's the most polite thing." And he walked off, accompanied by Zidore.
Bécassine rang the bell, and a young maid opened the door. "Je voudrais voir Miss Grace," said Bécassine.
"Do you speak English?" asked the maid.
Bécassine sifted through her recent lessons, but could find nothing that gave sense to the mysterious words. Following Emile's advice, she said, "Yes."
The young maid admitted her to the front hall and rattled away in English, all the while indicating two doors which led from the hall. Her voice seemed to be questioning, and Bécassine, whenever she heard it rise toward a query, repeated, "Yes."
Then the maid opened the door on the left and ushered the visitor into a small room. She began talking again, often touching Bécassine on the head and the mouth. When she was done, Bécassine ventured another, "Yes." This yes seemed to grieve the maid. With an expression so sympathetic that it caused Bécassine to become vaguely worried, the maid installed her in the best chair. The young maid gave another discourse, indicating the door at the back of the room. The words patience and courage came up frequently. Then the maid took some cotton wool from her pocket and stuffed it in Bécassine's ears.
After that the maid departed, repeating, "Patience! Courage!" Bécassine sat in the chair, completely stupified by this reception, and cast worried glances toward the door the maid had repeatedly indicated, behind which it seemed she could hear muffled cries.