France is a country where artists, intellectuals, and philosophers find inspiration.
For romantics, it is a place where hopes and dreams might come true.
Many people fall under France's enchanting spell, and Amy March was one of them.
Amy found Fred to be everything she had ever hoped for in a suitor:
he was from a very wealthy family, and he was handsome, intelligent, charming, and well groomed.
There was no question that he adored Amy, practically worshipping the ground she walked on.
They went to parties together, walked in the gardens, visited museums, and attended the theater several times.
While she was enjoying these activities and Fred's company, Amy tried to convince herself that he was a perfect match for marriage
(that is, if her parents allowed her to marry at 18, which would be in one year).
But something kept tugging at Amy's heart.
"Fred is perfect," Amy said to her reflection in the mirror as she got ready for a party that evening. "So why do I feel this way?"
Until then, Amy had regarded marriage as a way to secure her position in society.
She did not really believe that love had to be involved.
It was more important to her that she marry the right person rather than a poor artist.
"Love will come later as I grow fond of my husband and respect him," she told herself over and over again.
However, after meeting Fred, Amy could not put into practice what she thought she had strongly believed all these years.
"Could I have been wrong?" she asked the confused image facing her in the mirror.
For Jo, love was the last thing on her mind as she busied herself in her duties as a governess to the Kirke girls.
Jo taught them how to sew, bake bread, whistle, play soccer, and love reading.
Her days were so busy with the girls that she had no time to think about the problems at home, and she didn't mind that.
Evenings were trickier since Jo's responsibilities ended officially at four o'clock, and she had the rest of the day and evening to do as she pleased.
In order not to fret about Beth, about Laurie, about Amy off in Europe, and about Meg coping with married life,
Jo would either work on her writing or shut herself in the library downstairs and escape into a world of fiction.
On one such evening Jo had gotten settled in the library and was about to begin reading chapter four of Jacob's Mysterious Guest,
when she heard a man come through the front entrance.
She buried her face in the book, praying that whoever it was would take no notice of her, since she was not particularly in a sociable mood.
As luck would have it, the man passed by the open library door without stopping to see who was inside.
Jo, pulling the book away from her face let out a sigh of relief, but that quickly changed into a scream.
For there was the man she thought had already gone, standing in the doorway.
"Forgive me, miss," the man apologized profusely. "I didn't mean to frighten you."
Still shaking from the shock, Jo was unable to speak, but her eyes fell upon his stocking feet,
more specifically upon his left sock, which had a rather large hole in it.
"You see, I thought you were one of the girls trying to hide so she wouldn't have to go to bed so early.
That's why I took off my shoes so I could scare you, no, not you, but . . ."
The man struggled for words in a very strong foreign accent. "Anyway, I'm very sorry."
Then he gave Jo the warmest and friendliest smile she had ever seen.
By now Jo had caught her breath and was doing her best not to stare at his bare toe, which was wiggling as he spoke.
"I'm Friedrich Bauer," the man introduced himself.
"Oh, you're the Professor," said Jo, recognizing the name. "I'm Jo March, the girls' new governess."
"What a pleasure it is to finally make your acquaintance," he said kindly.
The Professor, according to Mrs. Kirke, was originally from Germany but had come to America a few years ago along with his two orphaned nephews.
He used to teach at a famous university in Berlin, but now he made his living as a tutor while caring for his deceased sister's two boys.
Mrs. Kirke said the Professor came from a wealthy and powerful family in Germany, but in his new country, he was almost penniless.
"Yes, the girls speak of you all the time," the Professor was saying.
"They even showed me what you have taught them. For example . . ."
Then to Jo's horror, the Professor began whistling a merry tune she had taught the girls.
Blushing with shame, Jo, who had warned the girls sternly not ever to whistle in public because it was not ladylike, stuttered,
"Well, I . . . the girls . . . just having fun."
With a twinkle in his eye, he continued, "So I taught them a melody I am particularly fond of. It goes like this."
The Professor began whistling another cheery tune.
This time, Jo could not help laughing as the Professor did a little dance to go with his song.
When his performance ended with a little bow, Jo clapped politely.
"May I ask what you are reading?" he asked, peering at the book on her lap.
Jo held it up and said, "I know I should be reading something more educational, but I just love mysteries and adventures."
Shrugging, the Professor said, "No, you should read what you enjoy.
You are the director of your life, not someone else.
Live in a way that will bring you happiness, not in the way others expect you to live it."
Appreciating his words, Jo asked the Professor to join her for a cup of tea.
"Thank you very much," he said as he sat down in the chair next to Jo.
When he crossed his left leg and saw the hole in his sock, he quickly switched to the other leg.
Then he let out a loud, hearty laugh. "Rest assured, Miss March," he said.
"It is not my habit to purposely show my toes to young ladies."
Laughing along with him, Jo took a moment to study the Professor.
He was older than she expected, perhaps in his mid-thirties, which, in comparison with her twenty years, was quite elderly.
Yet he had a youthful energy. He also had an inviting warm smile and soft, expressive eyes.
He was not handsome, like Laurie, but his face was interesting, and Jo found herself staring at it longer than she should have.
"Well, Miss March . . . ," the Professor said in his strong German accent.
"Please, call me Jo," she interrupted. "And by the way, if I may say so, your English is excellent, sir."
"Thank you kindly, Jo," he said, pronouncing her name like "Cho."
"Then you must call me Fritz, agreed? If you like, tomorrow I will prepare a special German hot chocolate drink.
Shall we meet here in the library at the same time?"
"I would love to, Fritz," Jo replied, not understanding why her heart suddenly began to beat faster.