The Professor: Avignon 



in the true sense of the word. In all my school 

 experience, I had never had such a treat. 



When the meeting broke up my heart beat faster 

 than usual: 



" What a pity," I thought, " that my side, the 

 science side, cannot bring me into contact, some 

 day, with that inspector! It seems to me that we 

 should become great friends." 



I inquired his name of my colleagues, who were 

 always better-informed than I. They told me it 

 was Victor Duruy. 



Well, one day, two years later, as I was looking 

 after my Saint-Martial laboratory in the midst of 

 the steam from my vats, with my hands the colour 

 of boiled lobster-claws from constant dipping in 

 the indelible red of my dyes, there walked in, un- 

 expectedly, a person whose features straightway 

 seemed familiar. I was right; it was the very man, 

 the chief-inspector whose speech had once stirred 

 me. M. Duruy was now Minister of Public In- 

 struction. He was styled " Your Excellency " ; 

 and this style, usually an empty formula, was well- 

 deserved in the present case, for our new minister 

 excelled in his exalted functions. We all held 

 him in high esteem. He was the workers' minis- 

 ter, the man for the humble toiler. 



" I want to spend my last half-hour at Avignon 

 with you," said my visitor with a smile. " That 

 will be a relief from the official bowing and scrap- 

 ing." 



Overcome by the honour paid me, I apologised 

 for my costume — I was in my short-sleeves — and 



171 



