The big ones smiled and nudged each other; the little ones did not raise an eyebrow.
A large paper, bearing the seal of the Prefecture and the stamp of the Town Hall, which Mademoiselle found in the letter-box, has greatly disturbed this morning which happens, for once, to be cool.
All heads are busy about it – and all tongues.
The Headmistress unfolded it; read it, re-read it, and said nothing.
Her giddy little companion, impatient at not being in the know, snatched it with lively, insistent paws and uttered such cries of
‘Ah!’ and
‘That’s going to cause a lot of fuss’ that we were violently intrigued and positively palpitating.
‘Yes,’ Mademoiselle said to her, ‘I was told about it, but I was waiting for the official confirmation; he’s a friend of Doctor Dutertre’s …’
‘But that’s not all. You must tell the school, because they’re going to hang out the flags, they’re going to have illuminations, they’re going to have a banquet … Just look at them, they’re sizzling with impatience!’
Sizzling? Weren’t we just!
‘Yes, we must announce it to them … Young ladies, try and listen to me and to take in what I say!
The Minister of Agriculture, Monsieur Jean Dupuy, is coming to the main town on the occasion of the forthcoming Agricultural Show, and he will take advantage of this to come and officially open the new schools: the town will be decorated with flags and bunting and illuminated; there will be a reception at the station … and now I’m bored with you all – you’ll soon know all about it because the town-crier will announce it.
Only try and “get a move on” more than you’re doing at the moment so that your samples of work will be ready.’
Profound silence.
And then babel broke loose!
Ejaculations burst out, everyone talked at once and the tumult grew, pierced by a shrill little voice:
‘Is the Minister going to ask us questions?’
We howled down Marie Belhomme, the duffer who had asked that.
Mademoiselle made us get into line, although it wasn’t time yet, and left us screeching and chattering while she went off to sort out her ideas and make arrangements in view of the unheard-of event which was brewing.
‘Old thing, what have you got to say about that?’ Anais asked me in the street.
‘I say that our holidays will begin a week earlier. That’s no joy for me.
I’m bored stiff when I can’t come to school.’
‘But there’s going to be celebrations and balls and fun and games in the square.’
‘Yes, and heaps of people to parade in front of, I know just what’s in your mind!
You know, we shall be very much in the public eye.
Dutertre, who’s an intimate friend of the new Minister (it’s because of him that this newly-fledged Excellency’s risking himself in a hole like Montigny), will put us forward …’
‘No! D’you really think so?’
‘Definitely!
It’s a plot he’s hatched to get the Deputy pushed out!’
She went off radiant, dreaming of official celebrations during which ten thousand pairs of eyes would contemplate her admiringly!
The town-crier had announced the news: we were promised endless joys: arrival of the ministerial train at nine o’clock; the municipal authorities, the pupils of the two Schools would await the Minister near the station, at the entrance to the town and would conduct him through the decorated streets to the bosom of the Schools.
There, on a platform, he would speak!
And in the great reception-room of the Town Hall he would banquet, along with a numerous company.
After that, distribution of prizes to grown-up people (for Monsieur Jean Dupuy was bringing along a few little green and purple ribbons for those to whom Dutertre was under an obligation – a master-stroke the latter had brought off). In the evening, a great ball in the banqueting room.
The brass band of the principal town of the district (something very special!) would graciously lend its assistance.
Finally the Mayor invited the inhabitants to hang out flags and bunting on their dwellings and to decorate them with greenery.
Ouf!
What an honour for us!
This morning, in class, Mademoiselle solemnly announced to us – we saw at once that great things were brewing – the visit of her dear Dutertre who would give us, with his customary obligingness, ample details about the way in which the ceremony was to be ordered.
Whereupon, he did not come.
It was only in the afternoon, just before four o’clock, at the moment when we were folding away our lace and knitting and tapestry-work into our little baskets that Dutertre arrived, as usual, like a whirlwind, without knocking.
I had not seen him since his ‘attempt’; he had not changed. He was dressed with his usual carefully thought-out negligence – coloured shirt, almost white jacket and trousers, a big, light-coloured, sailor-knotted tie tucked into the cummerbund that served him as a waistcoat. Mademoiselle Sergent, like Anais, like Luce, like Aimee Lanthenay, like all of them, found his taste in clothes supremely distinguished.
While he was talking to those ladies, he let his eyes wander in my direction, long eyes, tilting up at the outer corners – the eyes of a vicious animal, which he knew how to make gentle.
He won’t catch me again letting him take me out into the corridor; those days are over!
‘Well, little ones,’ he exclaimed. ‘You’re pleased to be seeing a Minister?’
We answered in vague, respectful murmurs.
‘Attention!
You’re going to give him an elegant reception at the station, all in white!
That’s not all, you must offer him bouquets, three of the big ones, one of whom will recite a little compliment; yes, definitely!’
We exchanged looks of feigned shyness and untruthful fright.