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Istartedforschoolverylatethatmorningandwasingreatdreadofascolding,especiallybecauseM.Hamelhadsaidthathewouldquestionusonparticiples,andIdidnotknowthefirstwordaboutthem.ForamomentIthoughtofrunningawayandspendingthedayoutofdoors.Itwassowarm,sobright!Thebirdsweresingingattheedgeofthewoods;andintheopenfieldbackofthesawmillthePrussiansoldiersweredrilling.Itwasallmuchmoretemptingthantheruleforparticiples,butIhadthestrengthtoresist,andhurriedofftoschool.
WhenIpassedthetownhalltherewasacrowdinfrontofthebulletinboard.Forthelasttwoyearsallourbadnewshadcomefromthere—thelostbattles,thedraft,theordersofthecommandingofficer—andIthoughttomyself,withoutstopping:
“Whatcanbethematternow?”
Then,asIhurriedbyasfastasIcouldgo,theblacksmith,Wachter,whowasthere,withhisapprentice,readingthebulletin,calledafterme:
“Don\’tgosofast,bub;youllgettoyourschoolinplentyoftime!”
Ithoughthewasmakingfunofme,andreachedM.Hamelslittlegardenalloutofbreath.
Usually,whenschoolbegan,therewasagreatbustle,whichcouldbeheardoutinthestreet,theopeningandclosingofdesks,lessonsrepeatedinunison,veryloud,withourhandsoverourearstounderstandbetter,andtheteachersgreatrulerbeatingonthetable.Butnowitwasallsostill!Ihadcountedonthecommotiontogettomydeskwithoutbeingseen;but,ofcourse,thatdayeverythinghadtobeasquietasSundaymorning.ThroughthewindowIsawmyclassmates,alreadyintheirplaces,andM.Hamelwalkingupanddownwithhisterribleironrulerunderhisarm.Ihadtoopenthedoorandgoinbeforeeverybody.YoucanimaginehowIblushedandhowfrightenedIwas.
Butnothinghappened.M.Hamelsawmeandsaidverykindly:
“Gotoyourplacequickly,littleFranz.Wewerebeginningwithoutyou.”
Ijumpedoverthebenchandsatdownatmydesk.Nottillthen,whenIhadgotalittleovermyfright,didIseethatourteacherhadonhisbeautifulgreencoat,hisfrilledshirt,andthelittleblacksilkcap,allembroidered,thatheneverworeexceptoninspectionandprizedays.Besides,thewholeschoolseemedsostrangeandsolemn.Butthethingthatsurprisedmemostwastosee,onthebackbenchesthatwerealwaysempty,thevillagepeoplesittingquietlylikeourselves;oldHauser,withhisthree-corneredhat,theformermayor,theformerpostmaster,andseveralothersbesides.Everybodylookedsad;andHauserhadbroughtanoldprimer,thumbedattheedges,andhehelditopenonhiskneeswithhisgreatglasseslyingacrossthepages.
WhileIwaswonderingaboutitall,M.Hamelmountedhischair,and,inthesamegraveandgentletonewhichhehadusedtome,said:
“Mychildren,thisisthelastlessonIshallgiveyou.TheorderhascomefromBerlintoteachonlyGermanintheschoolsofAlsaceandLorraine.Thenewmastercomestomorrow.ThisisyourlastFrenchlesson.Iwantyoutobeveryattentive.”
Whatathunderclapthesewordsweretome!
Oh,thewretches;thatwaswhattheyhadputupatthetownhall!
MylastFrenchlesson!Why,Ihardlyknewhowtowrite!Ishouldneverlearnanymore!Imuststopthere,then!Oh,howsorryIwasfornotlearningmylessons,forseekingbirdseggs,orgoingslidingontheSaar!Mybooks,thathadseemedsuchanuisanceawhileago,soheavytocarry,mygrammar,andmyhistory,wereoldfriendsnowthatIcouldntgiveup.AndM.Hamel,too;theideathathewasgoingaway,thatIshouldneverseehimagain,mademeforgetallabouthisrulerandhowcrankyhewas.
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