'I began to stammer out an apology, which he brushed away. "I have been keeping an eye on you for several days," he said with a faint smile. "I wondered who was moving my books, but as nothing went missing, I didn't mind. Then two evenings ago I was up there, working, and I saw you come and curl up on my chair. I thought it was so charming I couldn't bring myself to disturb you. And very curious, too. Why do you spend so much time reading?"
'I did not really trust myself to answer. "I can't stop myself," I said eventually.
'The answer seemed to please him. "And which of those books did you like the most?"
'I felt like saying all of them. "The ones with Rastignac in."
' "Really? You don't find stories of young girls finding true love more appealing? Why do you like Rastignac?"
'"Because he is trying to make something of himself."
'He seemed to find this reply quite fascinating, and he came across the room, sat opposite me and stared hard at me. "How extraordinary," he said. "How remarkable. Well, well . . ."
' "I'm truly sorry, sir . . ."
' "What for?"
' "For my impertinence."
' "No, you are not. At least, I very much hope you are not. Are you?"
'"No."
' "You notice that this room of mine is terribly untidy and messy? Not to say dusty?"
'I looked around, and could not see a book or ornament out of place.
And as for dust, I don't think there was a single speck anywhere.
' "I think that what I need is someone to tidy it up more often. Once the job is done, there would be no reason why that person could not fill up the remaining hours reading a book. As long as they put it back in its proper place again. Once they were finished. Can you think of anyone that might suit?"
'I could hardly believe what he was saying. "Oh, sir . . ."
' "Would you be so kind as to assist me, do you think?"
'I never knew that anyone could feel such happiness as I felt just then. The idea that I could spend hours a day in that room, just reading and tidying, made me want to skip and sing as I went back up the stairs. It was beyond my wildest dreams, and it was not a dream. I was given my instructions the next day by the head maid, and told to watch myself. Be quiet, be obedient. For once I intended to do just that.
'Nearly all day, every day, I spent in that library; Dr Stauffer said he had given me the task of reorganising all the books and dusting all the shelves and making a catalogue of them. He reckoned it would take up to a year. So it would have done, had he really wanted me to do it. I was occasionally instructed to put papers in files, or find things for him, but apart from that I simply read. And talked.
'The other servants were scandalised that I should have to work so hard, and I did not enlighten them. Every day I went to the library at eight in the morning, and stayed there, reading. Part of the time I read what I wished, but I also had to read what he gave me, and he evidently decided to give me an education. My knowledge of the world came entirely from books, and bit by bit it deepened. He gave me Voltaire, and Montaigne, then Shakespeare in translation, Victor Hugo, Dumas, Chateaubriand. In German Goethe, Schiller, then other books as well, history, philosophy. He suggested Homer, Cicero, Plato. Some I understood, others not, but all fascinated me, and often in the evenings he would summon me to talk about them. What did I think of this passage, or that? Was this author correct? Why did he say such a thing? I'm sure my ideas and responses were foolish and naïve, but he didn't seem to mind, and never corrected me, or told me the right answer. This went on for months and months; it was the happiest time of my life. For the first time, I felt as though I was loved, that someone cared for me. I had never imagined that it was possible to be so happy.
'Need I say that I fell in love with him, a man in his late forties, and me a girl of fifteen, as I was by then? He was everything I needed and didn't even know existed. He was even lonelier than I was, and knew little about how to inspire warmth or friendship in his equals. So he turned to me, and sought intimacy through books and ideas. He liked having me around him. There is a joy in that, I can see, watching someone else discover the pleasures that you first learned yourself in your youth. To see someone growing and flourishing in front of you. I will have children, one day. I know I will. And I will watch them grow.'
I was thoroughly confused now, for she was telling me a story of being saved, something out of those books she had devoured so avidly. A pretty little orphan, adopted by a kindly old man and given an education and love. I knew the story; she grew up with her devoted guardian and looked after him in his old age, or married some respectable, upright youth exactly like him. It was a tale of safety and contentment. Of warm emotion and fulfilment. It did not end on the streets of a small border town in winter.
