Madame Beck herself, if forced to the enterprise, would “skurry” through, retrenching her skirts, and carefully coasting the formidable estrade , like a ship dreading breakers. As to Rosine, the portress⁠—on whom, every half-hour, devolved the fearful duty of fetching pupils out of the very heart of one or other of the divisions to take their music-lessons in the oratory, the great or little saloon, the salle-à-manger, or some other piano-station⁠—she would, upon her second or third attempt, frequently become almost tongue-tied from excess of consternation⁠—a sentiment inspired by the unspeakable looks levelled at her through a pair of dart-dealing spectacles.