The Pupil Teacher: Avignon 



times those vats bubble, heated by a spray of 

 steam. A reddish powder, which looks like brick- 

 dust, is boiling in them. I learn that the sim- 

 mering stuff is a dyer's root, known as madder, 

 which will be converted into a purer and more 

 concentrated product. This is the master's pet 

 study. 



What I saw from the two windows was not 

 enough for me. I wanted to see farther, into the 

 very class-room. My wish was satisfied. It was 

 the end of the scholastic year. A stage ahead of 

 the others in the regular work, I had just obtained 

 my certificate. I was free. A few weeks remain 

 before the holidays. Shall I go and pass them 

 out of doors, in all the gaiety of my eighteen sum- 

 mers? No, I will spend them at the school which, 

 for two years past, has provided me with an un- 

 troubled roof and my daily crust. I will wait 

 until a post is found for me. Employ my willing 

 service as you think fit, do with me what you 

 will; as long as I can study, I am indifferent to 

 the rest. 



The principal of the school, the soul of kind- 

 ness, has grasped my passion for knowledge. He 

 encourages me in my determination; he proposes to 

 make me renew my acquaintance with Horace and 

 Virgil, so long since forgotten. He knows Latin, 

 he does; he will rekindle the dead spark by mak- 

 ing me translate a few passages. He does more: 

 he lends me an Imitation, with parallel texts in 

 Latin and Greek. With the first text, which I 

 am almost able to read, I will puzzle out the sec- 

 8l 



