A Romance of Youth | Page 9

seconds. In reality, he
was observing and judging his visitors. The father's scanty overcoat, the
rather pale face of the little boy, all betokened poverty. It simply meant
a day scholar at thirty francs a month, nothing more. So M. Batifol
shortened the "speech" that under like circumstances he addressed to
his new pupils.
He would take charge of his "young friend" (thirty francs a month, that
is understood, and the child will bring his own luncheon in a little
basket) who would first be placed in an elementary class. Certain
fathers prefer, and they have reason to do so, that their sons should be
half-boarders, with a healthful and abundant repast at noon. But M.

Batifol did not insist upon it. His young friend would then be placed in
the infant class, at first; but he would be prepared there at once, 'ab ovo',
one day to receive lessons in this University of France, 'alma parens'
(instruction in foreign languages not included in the ordinary price,
naturally), which by daily study, competition between scholars
(accomplishments, such as dancing, music, and fencing, to be paid for
separately; that goes without saying) prepare children for social life,
and make men and citizens of them.
M. Violette contented himself with the day school at thirty francs, and
for a good reason. The affair was settled. Early the next morning
Amedee would enter the "ninth preparatory."
"Give me your hand, my young friend," said the master, as father and
son arose to take their leave.
Amedee reached out his hand, and M. Batifol took it in his, which was
so heavy, large, and cold that the child shivered at the contact, and
fancied he was touching a leg of mutton of six or seven pounds' weight,
freshly killed, and sent from the butcher's.
Finally they left. Early the next morning, Amedee, provided with a
little basket, in which the old snuff-taker had put a little bottle of red
wine, and some sliced veal, and jam tarts, presented himself at the
boarding-school, to be prepared without delay for the teaching of the
'alma parens'.
The hippopotamus clothed in black did not take off his skullcap this
time, to the child's great regret, for he wished to assure himself if the
degrees of latitude and longitude were checked off in squares on M.
Batifol's cranium as they were on the terrestrial globe. He conducted
his pupil to his class at once and presented him to the master.
"Here is a new day scholar, Monsieur Tavernier. You will find out how
far advanced he is in reading and writing, if you please." M. Tavernier
was a tall young man with a sallow complexion, a bachelor who, had
he been living like his late father, a sergeant of the gendarmes, in a
pretty house surrounded by apple trees and green grass, would not,

perhaps, have had that 'papier-mache' appearance, and would not have
been dressed at eight o'clock in the morning in a black coat of the kind
we see hanging in the Morgue. M. Tavernier received the newcomer
with a sickly smile, which disappeared as soon as M. Batifol left the
room.
"Go and take your place in that empty seat there, in the third row," said
M. Tavernier, in an indifferent tone.
He deigned, however, to conduct Amedee to the seat which he was to
occupy. Amedee's neighbor, one of the future citizens preparing for
social life--several with patches upon their trousers--had been naughty
enough to bring into class a handful of cockchafers. He was punished
by a quarter of an hour's standing up, which he did soon after, sulking
at the foot of the sycamore-tree in the large court.
"You will soon see what a cur he is," whispered the pupil in disgrace;
as soon as the teacher had returned to his seat.
M. Tavernier struck his ruler on the edge of his chair, and, having
reestablished silence, invited pupil Godard to recite his lesson.
Pupil Godard, who was a chubby-faced fellow with sleepy eyes, rose
automatically and in one single stream, like a running tap, recited,
without stopping to take breath, "The Wolf and the Lamb," rolling off
La Fontaine's fable like the thread from a bobbin run by steam.
"The-strongest-reason-is-always-the-best-and-we-will-prove-it-at-once-
a- lamb-was-quenching-his-thirst-in-a-stream-of-pure-running-water--"
Suddenly Godard was confused, he hesitated. The machine had been
badly oiled. Something obstructed the bobbin.
"In-a-stream-of-pure-running-water-in-a stream--"
Then he stopped short, the tap was closed. Godard did not know his
lesson, and he, too, was condemned to remain on guard under the
sycamore during recess.

After pupil Godard came pupil Grosdidier; then Blanc, then Moreau
(Gaston), then Moreau (Ernest), then Malepert; then another, and
another, who babbled with the same intelligence and volubility, with
the same piping voice, this cruel and wonderful fable. It was as
irritating and monotonous as a fine rain.