monet painting

really had a cold. His sisters were gone to Morton in my stead: I
sat reading Schiller; he, deciphering his crabbed Oriental scrolls. As
I exchanged a translation for an exercise, I happened to look his way:
there I found myself under the influence of the ever-watchful blue
eye. How long it had been searching me through and through, and over
and over, I cannot tell: so keen was it, and yet so cold, I felt for
the moment superstitious- as if I were sitting in the room with
something uncanny.
'Jane, what are you doing?'
'Learning German.'
'I want you to give up German and learn Hindostanee.'
'You are not in earnest?'
'In such earnest that I must have it so: and I will tell you why.'
He then went on to explain that Hindostanee was the language he was
himself at present studying; that, as he advanced, he was apt to
forget the commencement; that it would assist him greatly to have a
pupil with whom he might again and again go over the elements, and
so fix them thoroughly in his mind; that his choice had hovered for
some time between me and his sisters; but that he had fixed on me
because he saw I could sit at a task the longest of the three. Would I
do him this favour? I should not, perhaps, have to make the