The Life of Jean Henri Fabre 



had just halved the size of its classes and largely 

 increased its staff. The newcomers all lived in the 

 building, like myself, and we had our meals in com- 

 mon at the principal's table. I had as a neigh- 

 bour, in the next cell to mine, a retired quarter- 

 master who, weary of barrack-life, had taken refuge 

 in education. When in charge of the books of 

 his company, he had become more or less familiar 

 with figures; and it was now his ambition to take 

 a mathematical degree. His cerebrum appears to 

 have hardened while he was with his regiment. 

 According to my dear colleagues, those amiable re- 

 tailers of the misfortunes of others, he had already 

 twice been plucked. Stubbornly, he returned to his 

 books and exercises, refusing to be daunted by two 

 reverses. 



It was not that he was allured by the beauties 

 of mathematics: far from it; but the step to which 

 he aspired favoured his plans. He hoped to have 

 his own boarders and dispense butter and vege- 

 tables to lucrative purpose. 



I had often surprised our friend sitting, in the 

 evening, by the light of a candle, with his elbows 

 on the table and his head between his hands, medi- 

 tating at great length in front of a big exercise- 

 book crammed with cabalistic signs. From time 

 to time, when an idea came to him, he would take 

 his pen and hastily put down a line of writing 

 wherein letters, large and small, were grouped with- 

 out any grammatical sense. The letters x and y 

 often recurred, intermingled with figures. Every 

 row ended with the sign of equality and a naught. 

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