The amorous Redhead swoons at the mere sight of her and our presence no longer restrains her from yielding to her furious desire to kiss her darling every two minutes.
On this warm afternoon, the class was murmuring a Selected Passage that we had to recite at three o’clock.
I was almost dozing, oppressed by a nervous lassitude.
I was incapable of any more effort, when all of a sudden I felt I wanted to scratch somebody, to give a violent stretch and to crush somebody’s hands; the somebody turned out to be Luce, my next-door neighbour.
She found the nape of her neck being clutched and my nails digging into it. Luckily, she didn’t say a word. I fell back into my irritated listlessness …
The door opened without anyone having even knocked: it was Dutertre, in a light tie, his hair flying, looking rejuvenated and pugnacious.
Mademoiselle Sergent sprang to her feet, barely said good afternoon to him and gazed at him with passionate admiration, her tapestry fallen unheeded on the floor. (Does she love him more than Aimee? or Aimee more than him?
Curious woman!) The class had stood up.
Out of wickedness, I remained seated, with the result that, when Dutertre turned towards us, he noticed me at once.
‘Good afternoon, Mademoiselle.
Good afternoon, little ones.
You seem in a state of collapse!’
‘I’m floppy. I haven’t a bone left in me.’
‘Are you ill?’
‘No, I don’t think so.
It’s the weather – general slackness.’
‘Come over here and let’s have a look at you.’
Was all that going to start over again … those medical pretexts for prolonged examinations?
The Headmistress launched looks of blazing indignation at me for the way I was sitting and for the way I was talking to her beloved District Superintendent.
I decided to put myself out and obey.
Besides, he adores these impertinent manners.
I dragged myself lazily over to the window.
‘One can’t see here because of that green shadow from the trees.
Come out into the corridor, there’s some sunlight there.
You look wretched, my child.’
Triple-distilled lie!
I looked extremely well.
I know myself: if it was because I had rings round my eyes that he thought I was ill, he was mistaken.
It’s a good sign when I have dark circles under my eyes, it means I’m in excellent health.
Luckily it was three in the afternoon, otherwise I should have been none too confident about going out, even into the glass-paned corridor, with this individual whom I mistrust like fire.
When he had shut the door behind us, I rounded on him and said:
‘Now, look here, I don’t look ill.
Why did you say I did?’
‘No?
What about those eyes with dark circles right down to your lips?’
‘Well, it’s the colour of my skin, that’s all.’
He had seated himself on the bench and was holding me in front of him, standing against his knees.
‘Shut up, you’re talking nonsense.
Why do you always look as if you were cross with me?’
‘…?’
‘Oh yes, you know quite well what I mean.
You know, you’ve got a nice, funny little phiz that sticks in one’s head once one’s seen it!’
I gave an idiotic laugh.
If only heaven would send me some wit, some smart repartee, for I felt terribly destitute of them!
‘Is it true you always go for walks all by yourself in the woods?’
‘Yes, it’s true.
Why?’
‘Because, you little hussy, perhaps you go to meet a lover?
You’re so well chaperoned!’ I shrugged my shoulders.
‘You know all the people round here as well as I do.