`` Who has said stupidities to you , that you doubt me ? '' and Casimer assumed an injured look , though his eyes danced with merriment . `` I heard Hoffman singing a Polish song to little Roserl , the burden of which was , ' Ma drogha , Ma drogha , ' and when I asked him to translate it , those two words meant , ` My darling . ' How dare you , ungrateful creature that you are ! '' As Amy spoke , half-confusedly , half-angrily , Casimer went down upon his knees , with folded hands and penitent face , exclaiming , in good English , -- `` Be merciful to me a sinner . I was tempted , and I could not resist . '' `` Get up this instant , and stop laughing . Say your lesson , for this will be your last , '' was the stern reply , though Amy 's face dimpled all over with suppressed merriment . He rose meekly , but made such sad work with the verb `` To love , '' that his teacher was glad to put an end to it , by proposing to read her French to him . It was `` Thaddeus of Warsaw , '' a musty little translation which she had found in the house , and begun for her own amusement . Casimer read a little , seemed interested , and suggested that they read it together , so that he might correct her accent . Amy agreed , and they were in the heart of the sentimental romance , finding it more interesting than most modern readers , for the girl had an improved Thaddeus before her , and the Pole a fairer , kinder Mary Beaufort . Dangerous times for both , but therein lay the charm ; for , though Amy said to herself each night , `` Sick , Catholic , and a foreigner , -- it can never be , '' yet each morning she felt , with increasing force , how blank her day would be without him . And Casimer , honorably restraining every word of love , yet looked volumes , and in spite of the glasses , the girl felt the eloquence of the fine eyes they could not entirely conceal . To-day , as she read , he listened with his head leaning on his hand , and though she never had read worse , he made no correction , but sat so motionless , she fancied at last that he had actually fallen asleep . Thinking to rouse him , she said , in French , -- `` Poor Thaddeus ! do n't you pity him ? -- alone , poor , sick , and afraid to own his love . '' `` No , I hate him , the absurd imbecile , with his fine boots and plumes , and tragedy airs . He was not to be pitied , for he recovered health , he found a fortune , he won his Marie .
His sufferings were nothing ; there was no fatal blight on him , and he had time and power to conquer his misfortunes , while I -- '' XXXXX spoke with sudden passion , and pausing abruptly , turned his face away , as if to hide some emotion he was too proud to show .
Amy Beaufort Casimer Hoffman Pole Polish Warsaw day drogha plumes