Part 4

_The Count_ alone, of all the boys, said nothing kind to me when I first met him on my return to Miss Porquet’s. He was too much taken up with arranging a new violet comforter well over his nose, under which comforter he managed to bury his face and hide himself like a dormouse.

I was too weak at first to join in any violent games; the boys still played at prisoner’s base, and hockey, they made slides, and put snow down one another’s backs, much to the horror of poor Miss Porquet. When the sun shone, Marc and I walked together up and down the playground until I was tired. When it was too cold for me to go out, he and I remained indoors and had a game at dominoes or draughts in the schoolroom.

I was quite sure, from Marc’s manner to me, that he was ignorant of my terrible secret; that neither he, nor any of the other boys, knew that I was a coward. My late illness was sufficient excuse for any nervous timidity which I might display on occasions. All went well with me at the school now. If any new pupil who came during that term appeared anxious to make unpleasant remarks respecting the size of my nose or any other peculiarity, he was always stopped at once by the information, “That is the boy who has been so ill.” Some of them indeed seemed to take quite a pride in themselves that they numbered amongst them a boy who had been so very ill. What will not people be proud of?

XXVI.

MARC’S FRIENDSHIP FOR ME.

MARC was extremely, and deservedly, popular amongst his schoolfellows; and, as I was his particular friend, some of his popularity was reflected upon me.

That I had been attracted by him the first day I saw him was not extraordinary; for he won, even at first sight, every one’s sympathy. Besides, had he not held out his hand to me that first day when he saw me in trouble? and did I not owe it to him that I had escaped the jokes and bullying which new boys generally get inflicted upon them?

But he, why did he like me? Perhaps for the simple reason that I loved him so, and that I required his friendship; his heart was so generous and kind!

At any rate, thanks to him, I found out what it was to be the friend of one who was thought so highly of. I was respected because he liked me, and I felt that I grew better by being so much with him.

When spring came round, and the cockchafers began to buzz among the linden trees, more than one of those unfortunate insects would be roughly seized by the wing, and passed from the hand which held it captive down the back of some timid young scholar. Then the most appalling shrieks would be heard from the frightened boy, accompanied by yells of joy and shouts of laughter from the perpetrator of the mischief. As for me the very idea of having a cockchafer put down my neck made me shudder all over. Miss Porquet, who was rather nervous herself, was very angry when the boys played this trick, but she could not stop it.

_The Count_, in spite of his pomposity, often came in for this disagreeable practical joke. He would then fly to his desk and write off to his mother. Whether the letters went I know not; but it was his great resource on these occasions. Now, fortunately for me, no one dreamt of putting a cockchafer down the neck of Marc Sublaine’s particular friend.

As things went so smoothly in play-hours I was all the better able to devote myself to my studies, and tackled my Latin grammar with the better will for having my mind at ease.

At the close of that summer I remember the boys adopted a very disagreeable method of teasing one another. It lasted for about a week, just when the furze bushes were covered with burs. And while the fancy lasted, the teasing was incessant. Everywhere—in the playground, at study time, under Miss Porquet’s very eyes—handfuls of burs used to be cast by anonymous hands, like harpoons by a whaler, on the innocent heads of unsuspecting boys. The heads chosen were always those covered with the thickest or curliest hair. And the victim would sometimes have to pass an hour in grumbling and complaining, while he disentangled the odious burs from his head; often pulling out handfuls of hair as he did so. This trick was never played on me; that I was spared, I knew well I owed to Marc.

XXVII.

PLANS FOR THE HOLIDAYS.

THE holidays drew near, and Marc and I formed the most delightful plans for passing part of them together. It was arranged that I should pass a week with him and his parents at their country house, Bois-Clair. This was situated almost on the borders of the beautiful forest at Loches, and at a short distance from the meadows watered by the river Indre. I already knew something of Bois-Clair, for I had passed a happy half-holiday there. But this time, only to think! what happiness! I was to spend a whole week there.

And yet my joy was not entirely without alloy. For I thought of the forest. We should of course go there to gather wild flowers and berries; that would be delightful! But if we met with wolves, boars, robbers, or snakes! Besides in a forest there would be sure to be thickets so obscure, so dark and terrible, that it made me ill to think of them. It is true we would fish in the little streams for cray-fish, that would be very nice! but supposing the cray-fish were to pinch our fingers with their claws! or supposing we found adders instead of cray-fish, or perhaps frogs! horrid frogs which are so like toads! Yes, but we would go to the banks of the river and fish for gudgeon. Ah! but suppose the bank gave way—as really happened once to my father—and we should be plunged in the Indre, which is over three feet deep quite in-shore.

Marc spoke of all these chances with a smile on his lips, and such perfect confidence in all turning out well, that I began to feel reassured. I began to think that courage was contagious. Not that I can say that I was courageous, that I had courage myself—alas! far from it, I knew I could not trust myself to be brave. But it seemed as if I somehow so trusted in Marc that his courage did for both of us.

If I had dared to tell him how really frightened I was about many things, he would have made me happy by telling me at once something I only learnt by chance in conversation, and that was that François would be with us wherever we went. François was his father’s servant: an old soldier and a worthy man.

XXVIII.

THE PROSPECT OF GOING TO COLLEGE.

IN the distance, however, beyond this happy holiday-time, there loomed a dark shadow: the time was drawing on when I should have to go to college. Now certain traditions which I had heard at Miss Porquet’s school represented the college as a sort of anticipation of the lower regions; where, from morning to night, the small and weak suffered from the tyranny of the strong. Amongst the _Porquets_ (for so the pupils of Miss Porquet were called) those who were of an adventurous and daring spirit, looked forward calmly, if not eagerly, to their college life—at least so some of them said—and to prepare themselves for it, wore their caps all on one side, and already talked the particular college slang. Others less courageous, waited the fatal moment of their removal from Miss Porquet’s care to the dangers of college life with fear and trembling. I was of that number. Some of the timid young Porquets having left the school, and actually, as it were, standing on the threshold of the college, drew back when on the very edge of the precipice, and obtained their parents’ consent to pass another year under the protecting wing of the amiable Miss Porquet.

Marc was to go to college at the same time as I did. He was not one of those who wore his cap on one side or who talked slang, and he did not boast that he would knock down the first collegian who looked scornfully at him. No, Marc was not that sort of boy at all: but on the other hand he had no fears about his college life. This wonderful courage—as it appeared to me—won my greatest admiration. As for him, it was only natural, he thought, to be fearless. And we made our plans together as follows:—

“We will go to college arm in arm,” Marc would say to me sometimes; “we will never be rude or provoke anyone, then it is most likely that nobody will provoke us. But if they touch us, well, we will defend ourselves, that is all.”

XXIX.

AT BOIS-CLAIR.

THE holidays arrived, and Marc and I went off to Bois-Clair. Rare and wonderful thing! that happy time, looked forward to, talked of, and thought of, for so long, fully realised our expectations. We were as happy and enjoyed ourselves in all respects as much, as we had ever dreamed we should. What spirits we were in! We were intoxicated with the splendid air, the freedom, and the constant exercise out-of-doors. We were seldom in the house, for we were so occupied with our important out-door affairs—fishing, gathering wild fruits and flowers, and getting ourselves nearly lost in the grand forest. François was always with us, and always in a good temper, when we went on any long expedition.

I became quite enterprising, almost daring, and, except now and then when certain fears assailed me, which however I did my best to conceal, I began to think I was becoming a changed character. One of the drawbacks, though, to my perfect happiness, while staying with Marc, was the constant chance of meeting with cattle. I could not bear to see a cow coming up to me. That was one of my fears. Another cause of trouble was the chance of falling in with sheep-dogs; how I dreaded seeing a flock of sheep grazing in a field, I knew the dogs would be with them, and that if we walked near, they would be sure to come up to us.

And this they always did without fail, and what a moment of anxiety I used to pass when these great, shaggy, dirty animals came running towards us, barking as loudly as they could, staring at us with their great bright eyes. Marc used to speak to them, and somehow he always knew how to quiet them; for at the sound of his voice they would stop barking, and walk off wagging their stumps of tails.

Still, when we had passed them I did not dare to look back for fear they should be coming after us. It always seemed to me that one of them would creep stealthily up behind and grip me. I seemed to feel, sometimes, as if one of the dogs was only a foot behind me, and just about to spring, and then, with a great fear on me, I would turn round suddenly to find, of course, no dog there.

The poor beasts had not wasted another thought on us: they returned to their flocks, after we passed, gently wagging their tails, and stopping now and again to philosophize, with their noses examining a mole-hill.

The turkeys were creatures that I detested, and nothing was more disagreeable to me than meeting them. I was very much afraid of them. I can scarcely give an idea of the effect produced upon me by their little black eyes, which always had an angry glare in them, their frightful wrinkled heads, their great spread-out tails, and drooping wings; there seemed to me to be something hideously unnatural always about the turkeys, and when they advanced towards me, with their ruffled feathers, they appeared to me like some monstrous stuffed beasts, that went on wheels, not living birds walking about. Marc did not seem to notice them, and I never told anyone the dread I had of those turkeys; but when they came near I shrank into a corner, and scarcely breathed until they had passed.

The pigs, too, troubled me not a little. I would willingly have walked a good distance out of my way to avoid passing through the copse where they were turned out. I distrusted their squinting little eyes, which appeared so full of deceit and malice; and I hated the familiarity with which they came up to smell us, simply because they, like us, belonged to the house. I remembered on these occasions all sorts of terrible tales of children having been devoured by pigs. But the coolness and confidence of Marc, in all times of apparent danger, in a little while reassured me.

Little by little—seeing that I was neither bitten, tossed, pecked, nor devoured—I became accustomed to all the objects which at first caused me so much terror. It is true I did not go in search of them, but I did not fly from them, as I began by doing.

XXX.

ULYSSES MAKES HIS APPEARANCE.

THE day before that on which we were to return to Loches, Marc and I went on to one of the terraces which overlooked the road, to shoot our bows and arrows. All of a sudden Marc cried out, “Hollo! here’s Ulysses! what does he come for, I wonder?”

Ulysses was one of the gendarmes belonging to the brigade at Loches. I was leaning on the railing: Ulysses came up to us at a hard gallop.

“Hollo! Ulysses, how d’ye do?” cried Marc.

Ulysses raised his head, looked at us, and nodded. “Is your papa at home?” he asked Marc.

“Yes,” answered Marc, “he is.”

Off went the gendarme at a trot, and in another minute we saw him turn to the left and enter the great gate of the courtyard of Bois-Clair. When he turned to leave us I noticed that he carried a small yellow leather bag at his back. I watched it jumping up and down as the horse trotted. Ah! if I had only known what that little yellow bag contained!

François soon came out to tell us that luncheon was ready. When we entered the courtyard we saw the gendarme’s horse tied to one of the chestnut trees. The flies were tormenting him; he kept shaking his head, and giving tremendous kicks with his great iron-shod feet. As we passed him he was frightened, and started, making a tremendous clatter. Off I ran. As I passed the kitchen window, I saw Ulysses at table having dinner.

At luncheon Mr. and Mrs. Sublaine both seemed much pre-occupied; every now and then they spoke together in a low tone of voice. After luncheon Ulysses came into the room, and then Mr. Sublaine told him he should “start to-night instead of to-morrow.”

I looked at Marc with surprise, and I saw, by the expression of his face, that he was as much astonished as myself.

As we were leaving the dining-room Mrs. Sublaine told us to make our little arrangements in the way of packing, and so on, for that we were going to leave Bois-Clair that evening. She did not tell us why, but returned to talk to Mr. Sublaine. We were back again at Loches at eight o’clock that night.

XXXI.

SAD NEWS FOR ME.

THE next day Marc came to see me, and told me that his father was going to Orleans. This news distressed me, I scarcely knew why. I had a presentiment that something terrible would follow. I had seen at Bois-Clair a large letter with a red seal, which laid beside Mr. Sublaine’s plate at luncheon. No doubt this had been brought by the gendarme in his little yellow bag. It was owing to that letter, with the red seal, that we had returned to Loches, sooner than was intended. This I felt quite sure of: and also that the same letter caused Mr. Sublaine to hurry off to Orleans. What would come next?

Alas! my fears were but too well founded. The day but one following, when I went to play with Marc, he told me that his father was appointed to a higher post under government at Orleans.

As Marc told me this, he looked very sad. When he told me, I could scarcely speak. I remember I only answered, “Ah!” It must have seemed very stupid, but I am sure he saw how grieved I was, for he did all he could to comfort me.

Marc’s parents were only to go at the beginning of October, so there was still a little time for us to be together, but I only seemed to suffer more in consequence. Each time I saw Marc, my heart seemed to swell with pain at the thought of our parting. I was miserable! how I loved him! he had been so good to me! how handsome he was! alas! should I lose sight of that good, kind face, perhaps for ever!

He tried his best to console me, he promised that he would often write to me, and talked of holidays yet to come that we would pass together at Bois-Clair: and then the blow was struck.

XXXII.

I GO TO COLLEGE.—A PUPIL CALLED BORNIQUET.

ON Saturday the third of October, Marc, and the rest of his family went to Orleans. Sunday I spent in tears, and on Monday my father took me to college.

The way to the college was through a very long street, called Pont Street. That Monday was very cold, I remember; an autumnal fog came up from the meadows near and seemed to creep into my bones, and I trembled in every limb.

At every step we met college boys of all ages, who were loitering along in the same direction we were going. They called to one another from a distance, and formed into different groups, from several of which I heard chance words escaping, in which very clear allusions were made to a new boy who had “a fine big nose of his own.”

Once within the college grounds the boys prepared to enter school, separating into their different classes. After wandering about for some time, uncertain where to go, I found myself in the middle of a group of boys which opened, with apparent good nature, to let me join them, and then closed round me. Once in the crowd I discovered that the object of each boy seemed to be to push his neighbour down; three times did I advance with the rest to the school door, and each time I was pushed away from it and knocked up against the wall. The fourth attempt was more successful, I was lifted off my legs and borne with the crowd into school, where, half crushed and quite out of breath, I managed to stumble on to one of the nearest benches.

As I took my school-books one by one out of my satchel, my neighbour jogged my elbow, and so threw them down; and the professor, looking sternly at me, begged that I would not “make so much noise.”

He asked the names of all the pupils, and made me repeat mine very carefully.

“Write an exercise!” said he at last.

Just as I plunged my pen into the inkstand and brought it out—certainly rather too full of ink—a neighbour who was watching me, gave my elbow another jog, and calculated the effect so well, that the contents of the pen were shot all over the clean white collar of one of the smaller boys, a little red-headed fellow, who turned round to me in a fury. I tried to explain how the misfortune occurred, the professor was very angry, and I made myself as small as possible.

The exercise over, the professor proceeded to question us, that is, to question the new pupils.

“Borniquet!” said he, “stand up.”

Borniquet did not move. The boys looked at one another with surprise and began whispering, the professor a second time ordered the pupil named Borniquet to rise. Strange to say, Borniquet made no sign: this time there was a regular murmur of surprise among the pupils; the professor became red with indignation. I trembled at the bare idea of the terrible punishment that awaited the luckless Borniquet; I would not have been in his place for something.

“I desire you to stand up, Borniquet!” cried the professor, turning to the right,—just where I was. I looked now at the boys on each side of me with great curiosity; it must be one of them, thought I.

“But you, you, you!” cried the professor again, pointing his finger right in my direction. I turned round and looked behind me. Where was Borniquet? The whole class now burst out laughing.

“You, the third boy on the second bench!” cried the professor, now quite losing patience.

The third boy on the second bench was me. The boys near me said, “Get up! get up!” As there was certainly some mistake somewhere, I still hesitated, when I felt a sudden and violent push, which came from I knew not where, and I was on my legs. I looked at the professor, feeling very foolish.

He was a worthy man: thinking he had a very stupid and nervous pupil before him he questioned me in a kind, gentle tone to encourage me. Presently he stooped over his desk, and then looked up quite surprised. “But, I see,” cried he, “that there is no pupil of the name of Borniquet on the list! Why what is your name?”

“Bicquerot,” I said.

He tapped his forehead and declared that he had made a slip of the tongue. “That might happen to any one,” he remarked, turning towards the laughing boys.

But it was a curious thing that he should have made the mistake in the name so many times. His tongue had a strange way of slipping. During the whole year I was called by the two names, and had to answer sometimes to Borniquet, sometimes to Bicquerot. And naturally my schoolfellows preferred calling me by my wrong name Borniquet.

XXXIII.

MY NOSE STILL TROUBLES ME.

A CURLY headed little boy, with eyes sparkling with malice, and a tiny turned-up nose, came close up to me and said: “Don’t you intend to give it back to me?”

“What do you mean?” I asked in surprise.

“You know very well,” he answered, looking more impertinent than ever.

“But I assure you I do not,” replied I.

“My nose; you know you have taken my share as well as your own, and it’s very nasty of you,” said this disagreeable child.

I reddened and turned away from him. The boy on the other side of me seized the opportunity of my turning towards him, to say: “My little Borniquet.”

“Not Borniquet but Bicquerot!” I corrected.

“Ah, that’s true,” he went on. “But, my little Borniquet, tell me, what is it made of?”

I guessed that he alluded to my nose, and I shrugged my shoulders.

“He has a false nose,” said my interlocutor in a voice loud enough for nearly everyone to hear, “and he won’t tell me if it is made of paste-board!”

All the boys near us began to laugh, and presently the whole class joined in the hilarity: never had an unfortunate nose become so popular so quickly.

All sorts of jokes were made about my luckless nose. Little pieces of paper were sent round with witty and unpleasant allusions to my prominent feature. A future caricaturist gained great applause by making a sketch representing the pupil Borniquet dressed as an acrobat beating a drum, and suspended from the trapeze by his monstrous nose.

The least reference made to _any_ nose instantly attracted every eye to mine, and sent the class off into roars of laughter.

What a beginning to my college life! I said to myself over and over again, If Marc had but not left me, all this would never have happened.

XXXIV.

“AZOR! AZOR!”

WHEN school was over I made up my mind that I would slip quietly out of the college gates, and making my escape, run home as fast as my legs could carry me. Unfortunately I did not succeed in doing this. In the playground I had to pass several boys who were collected together in groups before they went home. I blush to acknowledge that one of these boys—quite a little fellow too—planted himself resolutely in front of me and prevented me from passing him. After standing so for a second he suddenly seized me by the nose and pulled it till I cried out.

“Knock him down, he has insulted you,” cried out a boy noted for his love of fighting.

I looked at him, feeling stupid and uncertain what to do: he turned away in disgust, shrugging his shoulders.

I succeeded, however, in making my way out of college. To my great astonishment all the boys whom I passed, whether of my own class or not, seemed determined to call me “Azor.” “Here, here, Azor,” they cried. “Hi, hi, Azor, where is that dog Azor? Oh, here he is, and muzzled! He does not bite, not he. Get out, Azor!” These were the cries that greeted me on every side. Why should they call me by that name, which in France is commonly given to a dog only?

Here and there, in Pont-street, stood groups of college boys: as soon as I passed one of these clusters, the boys all burst out laughing and called after me, “Azor! Azor!”