amends to some
amongst us for many a sharp snap and savage snarl: not a jocund,
good-fellow tone, still less an unctuous priestly, accent, but a voice
he had belonging to himself--a voice used when his heart passed the
words to his lips. That same heart did speak sometimes; though an
irritable, it was not an ossified organ: in its core was a place,
tender beyond a man's tenderness; a place that humbled him to little
children, that bound him to girls and women to whom, rebel as he would,
he could not disown his affinity, nor quite deny that, on the whole, he
was better with them than with his own sex.

"We all wish Monsieur a good day, and present to him our
congratulations on the anniversary of his fete," said Mademoiselle
Zelie, constituting herself spokeswoman of the assembly; and advancing
with no more twists of affectation than were with her indispensable to
the achievement of motion, she laid her costly bouquet before him. He
bowed over it.

The long train of offerings followed: all the pupils, sweeping past
with the gliding step foreigners practise, left their tributes as they
went by. Each girl so dexterously adjusted her separate gift, that when
the last bouquet was laid on the desk, it formed the apex to a blooming
pyramid--a pyramid blooming, spreading, and towering with such
exuberance as, in the end, to eclipse the hero behind it. This ceremony
over, seats were resumed, and we sat in dead silence, expectant of a
speech.

I suppose five minutes might have elapsed, and the hush remained
unbroken; ten--and there was no sound.

Many present began, doubtless, to wonder for what Monsieur waited; as
well they might. Voiceless and viewless, stirless and wordless, he kept
his station behind the pile of flowers.

At last there issued forth a voice, rather deep, as if it spoke out of
a hollow:--

"Est-ce la tout?"

Mademoiselle Zelie looked round.

"You have all presented your bouquets?" inquired she of the pupils.

Yes; they had all given their nosegays, from the eldest to the
youngest, from the tallest to the most diminutive. The senior mistress
signified as much.

"Est-ce la tout?" was reiterated in an intonation which, deep before,
had now descended some notes lower.

"Monsieur," said Mademoiselle St. Pierre, rising, and this time
speaking with her own sweet smile, "I have the honour to tell you that,
with a single exception, every person in classe has offered her
bouquet. For Meess Lucie, Monsieur