The Martian. George du Maurier

we all jumped up, and stood on forms, and craned our necks to see Louis Philippe I. and his Queen drive quickly by in their big blue carriage and four, with their

       THE NEW BOY

      two blue‑and‑silver liveried outriders trotting in front, on their way from St.‑Cloud to the Tuileries.

      "Sponde! Sélancy! fermez les fenêtres, ou je vous mets tous au pain sec pour un mois!" thundered M. Bonzig, who did not approve of kings and queens—an appalling threat which appalled nobody, for when he forgot to forget he always relented; for instance, he quite forgot to insist on that formidable compound verb of mine.

      Suddenly the door of the school‑room flew open, and the tall, portly figure of Monsieur Brossard appeared, leading by the wrist a very fair‑haired boy of thirteen or so, dressed in an Eton jacket and light blue trousers, with a white chimney‑pot silk hat, which he carried in his hand—an English boy, evidently; but of an aspect so singularly agreeable one didn't need to be English one's self to warm towards him at once.

      "Monsieur Bonzig, and gentlemen!" said the head master (in French, of course). "Here is the new boy; he calls himself Bartholomiou Josselin. He is English, but he knows French as well as you. I hope you will find in him a good comrade, honorable and frank and brave, and that he will find the same in you.—Maurice!" (that was me).

      "Oui, m'sieur!"

      "I specially recommend Josselin to you."

      "Moi, m'sieur?"

      "Yes, you; he is of your age, and one of your compatriots. Don't forget."

      "Bien, m'sieur."

      "And now, Josselin, take that vacant desk, which will be yours henceforth. You will find the necessary books and copy‑books inside; you will be in the fifth class, under Monsieur Dumollard. You will occupy yourself with the study of Cornelius Nepos, the commentaries of Cæsar, and Xenophon's retreat of the ten thousand. Soyez diligent et attentif, mon ami; à plus tard!"

      He gave the boy a friendly pat on the cheek and left the room.

      Josselin walked to his desk and sat down, between d'Adhémar and Laferté, both of whom were en cinquième. He pulled a Cæsar out of his desk and tried to read it. He became an object of passionate interest to the whole school‑room, till M. Bonzig said:

      "The first who lifts his eyes from his desk to stare at 'le nouveau' shall be au piquet for half an hour!" (To be au piquet is to stand with your back to a tree for part of the following play‑time; and the play‑time which was to follow would last just thirty minutes.)

      Presently I looked up, in spite of piquet, and caught the new boy's eye, which was large and blue and soft, and very sad and sentimental, and looked as if he were thinking of his mammy, as I did constantly of mine during my first week at Brossard's, three years before.

      Soon, however, that sad eye slowly winked at me, with an expression so droll that I all but laughed aloud.

      Then its owner felt in the inner breast pocket of his Eton jacket with great care, and delicately drew forth by the tail a very fat white mouse, that seemed quite tame, and ran up his arm to his wide shirt collar, and tried to burrow there; and the boys began to interest themselves breathlessly in this engaging little quadruped.

      M. Bonzig looked up again, furious; but his spectacles had grown misty from the heat and he couldn't see, and he wiped them; and meanwhile the mouse was quickly smuggled back to its former nest.

      Josselin drew a large clean pocket‑handkerchief from his trousers and buried his head in his desk, and there was silence.

      "La!—ré, fa!—la!—ré"—

      So strummed, over and over again, poor Chardonnet in his remote parlor—he was getting tired.

      I have heard "L'Invitation à la Valse" many hundreds of times since then, and in many countries, but never that bar without thinking of Josselin and his little white mouse.

      "Fermez votre pupitre, Josselin," said M. Bonzig, after a few minutes.

      Josselin shut his desk and beamed genially at the usher.

      "What book have you got there, Josselin—Cæsar or Cornelius Nepos?"

      Josselin held the book with its title‑page open for M. Bonzig to read.

      "Are you dumb, Josselin? Can't you speak?"

      Josselin tried to speak, but uttered no sound.

      "Josselin, come here—opposite me."

      Josselin came and stood opposite M. Bonzig and made a nice little bow.

      "What have you got in your mouth, Josselin—chocolate?—barley‑sugar?—caoutchouc?—or an India‑rubber ball?"

      Josselin shrugged his shoulders and looked pensive, but spoke never a word.

      "Open quick the mouth, Josselin!"

      And Monsieur Bonzig, leaning over the table, deftly put his thumb and forefinger between the boy's lips, and drew forth slowly a large white pocket‑handkerchief, which seemed never to end, and threw it on the floor with solemn dignity.

      The whole school‑room was convulsed with laughter.

      "Josselin—leave the room—you will be severely punished, as you deserve—you are a vulgar buffoon—a jo‑crisse—a paltoquet, a mountebank! Go, petit polisson—go!"

      The polisson picked up his pocket‑handkerchief and went-quite quietly, with simple manly grace; and that's the first I ever saw of Barty Josselin—and it was some fifty years ago.

      At 3.30 the bell sounded for the half‑hour's recreation, and the boys came out to play.

      Josselin was sitting alone on a bench, thoughtful, with his hand in the inner breast pocket of his Eton jacket.

      M. Bonzig went straight to him, buttoned up and severe—his eyes dancing, and glancing from right to left through his spectacles; and Josselin stood up very politely.

      "Sit down!" said M. Bonzig; and sat beside him, and talked to him with grim austerity for ten minutes or more, and the boy seemed very penitent and sorry.

      Presently he drew forth from his pocket his white mouse, and showed it to the long usher, who looked at it with great seeming interest for a long time, and finally took it into the palm of his own hand—where it stood on its hind legs—and stroked it with his little finger.

      Soon Josselin produced a small box of chocolate drops, which he opened and offered to M. Bonzig, who took one and put it in his mouth, and seemed to like it. Then they got up and walked to and fro together, and the usher put his arm round the boy's shoulder, and there was peace and good‑will between them; and before they parted Josselin had intrusted his white mouse to "le grand Bonzig"-who intrusted it to Mlle. Marceline, the head lingère, a very kind and handsome person, who found for it a comfortable home in an old bonbon‑box lined with blue satin, where it had a large family and fed on the best, and lived happily ever after.

      But things did not go smoothly for Josselin all that Saturday afternoon. When Bonzig left, the boys gathered round "le nouveau," large and small, and asked questions. And just before the bell sounded for French literature, I saw him defending himself with his two British fists against Dugit, a big boy with whiskers, who had him by the collar and was kicking him to rights. It seems that Dugit had called him, in would‑be English, "Pretty voman," and this had so offended him that he had hit the whiskered one straight in the eye.

      Then French literature for the quatrième till six; then dinner for all—soup, boiled beef (not salt), lentils; and Gruyère cheese, quite two ounces each; then French rounders till half past seven; then lesson preparation (with Monte Cristos in one's lap, or Mysteries of Paris, or Wandering Jews)