Hugo wasn't sure whether he should be glad or displeased. He wasn't so weak that he failed to see that Thilde was molding him according to her wishes. And he wasn't so entirely lacking in insight that he was not aware of the very unheroic aspects of his situation. Thilde did with him as she pleased and pointed him to the left or to the right, whichever was best. Yes, that was not as it should be. But these moods did not last long; in fact, he was glad to have someone there to point him to the left or to the right, whichever was best. That it was well-meant and that it helped him to move forward, this he felt at every moment. What helped him get over his occasional ill-humor was observing the methods Thilde employed with him. Given his aesthetic sensibilities, which could take delight in finesse, he not only rejoiced in how her pedagogical process eased his burden but also observed Thilde's methods with a degree of artistic satisfaction. For Thilde was determined not to require of him more than he was able to do. Even with the best intentions, his abilities were rather weak, so she saw to it cleverly and tactfully that there were regular pauses, or, as she jokingly put it, “entrefilets,” a word that she had adopted from Hugo's rather journalistic vocabulary. Whenever possible, she examined his knowledge using a quick question-and-answer game. When that became oppressive and there were signs of fatigue on Hugo's face, she brought in a glass of tea or red wine or a bag of ginger candies.

While she offered him some and took a piece or two herself, she chatted about the Molucca Islands, where the best ginger preserves were made, and how they were said to import the large blue floral porcelain jars from China (or perhaps they were just imitations). She would then transition smoothly into matters of the day and read to him about the persecution of Christians in China, or about the French in Cochinchina, or about the war that the Dutch would have to wage against the natives.