ly a sense of contempt for
the treacherous fashion in which it had been inflicted, and a lasting
mistrust of the hand which I had detected attempting to stab in the
dark.

This state of things continued till about the middle of July, and then
there was a little change; Pelet came home one night, an hour after his
usual time, in a state of unequivocal intoxication, a thing anomalous
with him; for if he had some of the worst faults of his countrymen,
he had also one at least of their virtues, i.e. sobriety. So drunk,
however, was he upon this occasion, that after having roused the whole
establishment (except the pupils, whose dormitory being over the classes
in a building apart from the dwelling-house, was consequently out of the
reach of disturbance) by violently ringing the hall-bell and ordering
lunch to be brought in immediately, for he imagined it was noon, whereas
the city bells had just tolled midnight; after having furiously rated
the servants for their want of punctuality, and gone near to chastise
his poor old mother, who advised him to go to bed, he began raving
dreadfully about "le maudit Anglais, Creemsvort." I had not yet retired;
some German books I had got hold of had kept me up late; I heard the
uproar below, and could distinguish the director's voice exalted in
a manner as appalling as it was unusual. Opening my door a little, I
became aware of a demand on his part for "Creemsvort" to be brought
down to him that he might cut his throat on the hall-table and wash
his honour, which he affirmed to be in a dirty condition, in infernal
British blood. "He is either mad or drunk," thought I, "and in either
case the old woman and the servants will be the better of a man's
assistance," so I descended straight to the hall. I found him staggering
about, his eyes in a fine frenzy rolling--a pretty sight he was, a just
medium between the fool and the lunatic.

"Come, M. Pelet," said I, "you had better go to bed," and I took hold of
his arm. His excitement, of course, increased greatly at sight and touch
of the individual for whose blood he had been making application: he
struggled and struck with fury--but a drunken man is no match for a
sober one; and, even in his normal state, Pelet's worn out frame could
not have stood against my sound one. I got him up-stairs, and, in
process of time, to bed. During the operation he did not fail to
utter comminations which, though broken, had a sense in them; while
stigmatizing