But, as we know, Hermann was as innocent as Celadon. The result was that Dame Perrine's first broadsides, the pouting and sighs and sidelong glances, were utterly powerless against the naïve timidity of the honest German. He contented himself with staring at Dame Perrine out of his great round eyes; but, like the blind men of the Gospel, "eyes had he, but he saw not," or if he did see, he saw the buxom governess as a whole simply, without noting details. Dame Perrine repeatedly proposed that they should go for a walk on the Quai des Augustins, or in the gardens of the Grand—or Petit-Nesle, and on every occasion she selected Hermann for her cavalier. This made Hermann very happy internally. His great Teutonic heart beat five or six extra pulsations a minute when Dame Perrine was hanging upon his arm; but either because he found some difficulty in pronouncing the French language, or because it gave him greater pleasure to hear the object of his secret thoughts talk, Dame Perrine could rarely extract anything more from him than these two sacramental phrases, "Ponchour, matemoizelle," and "Atieu, matemoizelle," which Hermann generally pronounced at an interval of two hours; the first when Dame Perrine took his arm, the second when she let it go. Now, although this title of Mademoiselle was immensely flattering to Dame Perrine, and although there was something very agreeable in talking two hours without fear of interruption, she would have been glad to have her monologue broken in upon by an occasional interjection which might give her some idea of the progress she was making in the heart of her mute attendant.
Her progress, however, was none the less real for not being expressed in words or by play of feature; the fire was kindled in the honest German's heart, and, being fanned every day by Dame Perrine's presence, became a veritable volcano. Hermann began at last to be conscious of the preference Dame Perrine accorded him, and he was only waiting until he was a little more certain of it to declare himself. Dame Perrine understood his hesitation. One evening, as he parted from her at the door of the Petit-Nesle, she saw that he was so agitated that she thought it would be a real kindness on her part to press his hand. Hermann, transported with delight, responded by a similar demonstration; but to his great amazement Dame Perrine gave a piercing shriek. In his delirious bliss, Hermann did not measure his pressure. He thought that the tighter he squeezed her hand, the more accurate idea he would convey of the violence of his passion; and he very nearly crushed the poor governess's fingers.
Hermann was thunderstruck by her shriek; but Dame Perrine, fearing to discourage him just as he had summoned up courage to make his first advance, forced herself to smile, and said, as she separated her fingers, which were almost glued together for the moment:—
"It's nothing, nothing, dear Monsieur Hermann; it's nothing, absolutely nothing."
"Tausend pardons, Matemoizelle Perrine," said the German, "but I lofe you sehr viel, and I haf pressed your hant as I lofe you! Tausend pardons!"
"There's no need, Monsieur Hermann, there's no need. Your love is an honorable love, I trust, which a woman need not blush to win."
"O Tieu! O Tieu!" cried Hermann, "indeed, my lofe is honorable, Matemoizelle Perrine; put I haf not yet tared to speak to you of it; put since die wort haf escaped me, I lofe you, I lofe you, I lofe you sehr viel, Matemoizelle Perrine."
"And I, Monsieur Hermann," said Dame Perrine mincingly, "think I can say, for I believe you to be a gallant youth, incapable of compromising a poor woman, that—Mon Dieu! how shall I say it?"
"Oh say it! say it!" cried Hermann.
"Well! that—ah, it is wrong of me to confess it!"