‘And what did you say?’
‘Oh, luckily I knew a bit, Mademoiselle; I said that you poured water on lime and that the bubbles of gas that form were sulphuric acid …’
‘You said that?’ articulated Mademoiselle, gritting her teeth as if she were longing to bite …
Anais gnawed her nails with delight.
Marie, thunderstruck, did not utter another word and the Headmistress, rigid and red in the face, marched us off, walking very fast.
We trotted behind her like little dogs, practically hanging our tongues out under the sun that beat down on us.
We no longer paid the least attention to our alien competitors and they did not look at us either.
The heat and our jangled nerves had taken away all desire to show off and all animosity.
The girls from Villeneuve School, the ‘apple-greens’ as we called them – because of the green ribbons round their necks, that appalling harsh green which is the special prerogative of boarding-schools – still put on prudish, disgusted airs when they came anywhere near us (why? we shall never know); but everyone was settling down and relaxing.
Already we were thinking about our departure tomorrow morning and brooding deliciously on how we’d rile our rejected schoolmates, the ones who hadn’t been able to enter on account of ‘general weakness’.
How the gawky Anais was going to preen and strut and talk about the Training College as if she owned it!
Pooh!
I hadn’t enough shoulders to shrug.
The examiners reappeared at least; they were mopping their faces and looked ugly and shiny.
Heavens, I should hate to be married in weather like this!
The mere idea of sleeping with a man who was as hot as they were … (In any case, in summer, I should have two beds …) Moreover, the smell in that overheated room was appalling; it was obvious that a great many of those little girls were anything but fastidious about their underclothes.
I would have done anything to get away.
I collapsed on a chair and vaguely listened to the others as I awaited my turn; I saw the girl, the luckiest one of all, who had ‘finished’ first.
She had endured all the questioning; now she could breathe again as she crossed the room to the accompaniment of compliments, envious glances and cries of
‘You’re jolly lucky!’
Soon another one followed her and joined her in the playground where the ‘released’ were resting and exchanging their impressions.
Old Salle, slightly unbent by this sun which warmed his gout and his rheumatics, was taking a forced rest as the girl he was waiting for was occupied elsewhere.
Suppose I risked a tentative assault on his virtue?
Very quietly, I went up and sat down on the chair opposite him.
‘Good morning, Monsieur Salle.’
He stared at me, settled his glasses, blinked – and still did not recognize me.
‘Claudine, you know?’
‘Ah … fancy that!
Good morning, my dear child!
Is your father well?’
‘Very well, thank you.’
‘Well now, how’s the exam going?
Are you satisfied?
Will you soon be finished?’
‘Alas, I’d like to be!
But I’ve still got to get through physics and chemistry, literature – which is your department – English and music.
Is Madame Salle well?’
‘My wife’s gadding about in Poitou; she’d do much better to be looking after me but …’
‘Listen, Monsieur Salle, now you’ve got me here, do get me over the literature.’
‘But I haven’t got to your name, not nearly! Come back a little later on …’
‘Monsieur Salle, whatever would it matter?’
‘Matter? It would matter that I was enjoying a moment’s respite and that I had thoroughly deserved it.
And besides, it’s not in the programme; we mustn’t break the alphabetical order.’
‘Monsieur Salle, be a dear.
You need hardly ask me anything.
You know that I know much more than the syllabus demands about books that count as literature.
I’m a bookworm in Papa’s library.’
‘Er … yes, that’s true.
I can certainly do that for you.
I had intended to ask you what were the bards and the troubadours and the Roman de la rose, and so on.’