No More Learning

"

I felt unutterably confused on meeting Mme. M. at the rehearsal. I kept
feeling that she would at once read in my eyes all the reflections, the
doubts, the surmises, that had arisen in my mind since the previous day.
I fancied, too, that I was, as it were, to blame in regard to her, for
having come upon her tears the day before and hindered her grieving, so
that she could hardly help looking at me askance, as an unpleasant
witness and unforgiven sharer of her secret. But, thank goodness, it
went off without any great trouble; I was simply not noticed. I think
she had no thoughts to spare for me or for the rehearsal; she was
absent-minded, sad and gloomily thoughtful; it was evident that she was
worried by some great anxiety. As soon as my part was over I ran away to
change my clothes, and ten minutes later came out on the verandah into
the garden. Almost at the same time Mme. M. came out by another door,
and immediately afterwards coming towards us appeared her self-satisfied
husband, who was returning from the garden, after just escorting into it
quite a crowd of ladies and there handing them over to a competent
_cavaliere servente_. The meeting of the husband and wife was evidently
unexpected. Mme. M. , I don't know why, grew suddenly confused, and a
faint trace of vexation was betrayed in her impatient movement. The
husband, who had been carelessly whistling an air and with an air of
profundity stroking his whiskers, now, on meeting his wife, frowned and
scrutinized her, as I remember now, with a markedly inquisitorial stare.

"You are going into the garden? " he asked, noticing the parasol and book
in her hand.

"No, into the copse," she said, with a slight flush.

"Alone? "

"With him," said Mme. M. , pointing to me. "I always go a walk alone in
the morning," she added, speaking in an uncertain, hesitating voice, as
people do when they tell their first lie.

"H'm . . . and I have just taken the whole party there. They have all met
there together in the flower arbour to see N. off. He is going away, you
know. . . . Something has gone wrong in Odessa. Your cousin" (he meant the
fair beauty) "is laughing and crying at the same time; there is no
making her out. She says, though, that you are angry with N. about
something and so wouldn't go and see him off. Nonsense, of course? "

"She's laughing," said Mme. M. , coming down the verandah steps.

"So this is your daily _cavaliere servente_," added M. M. , with a wry
smile, turning his lorgnette upon me.

"Page! " I cried, angered by the lorgnette and the jeer; and laughing
straight in his face I jumped down the three steps of the verandah at
one bound.

"A pleasant walk," muttered M. M. , and went on his way.

Of course, I immediately joined Mme. M. as soon as she indicated me to
her husband, and looked as though she had invited me to do so an hour
before, and as though I had been accompanying her on her walks every
morning for the last month. But I could not make out why she was so
confused, so embarrassed, and what was in her mind when she brought
herself to have recourse to her little lie? Why had she not simply said
that she was going alone? I did not know how to look at her, but
overwhelmed with wonder I began by degrees very naïvely peeping into her
face; but just as an hour before at the rehearsal she did not notice
either my looks or my mute question. The same anxiety, only more intense
and more distinct, was apparent in her face, in her agitation, in her
walk. She was in haste, and walked more and more quickly and kept
looking uneasily down every avenue, down every path in the wood that led
in the direction of the garden. And I, too, was expecting something.
Suddenly there was the sound of horses' hoofs behind us. It was the
whole party of ladies and gentlemen on horseback escorting N. , the
gentleman who was so suddenly deserting us.

Among the ladies was my fair tormentor, of whom M. M. had told us that
she was in tears. But characteristically she was laughing like a child,
and was galloping briskly on a splendid bay horse. On reaching us N.
took off his hat, but did not stop, nor say one word to Mme. M. Soon all
the cavalcade disappeared from our sight. I glanced at Mme. M. and
almost cried out in wonder; she was standing as white as a handkerchief
and big tears were gushing from her eyes. By chance our eyes met: Mme.
M. suddenly flushed and turned away for an instant, and a distinct look
of uneasiness and vexation flitted across her face. I was in the way,
worse even than last time, that was clearer than day, but how was I to
get away?

And, as though guessing my difficulty, Mme. M. opened the book which she
had in her hand, and colouring and evidently trying not to look at me
she said, as though she had only suddenly realized it--

"Ah! It is the second part. I've made a mistake; please bring me the
first. "

I could not but understand. My part was over, and I could not have been
more directly dismissed.

I ran off with her book and did not come back. The first part lay
undisturbed on the table that morning. . . .

But I was not myself; in my heart there was a sort of haunting terror. I
did my utmost not to meet Mme. M. But I looked with wild curiosity at
the self-satisfied person of M. M. , as though there must be something
special about him now. I don't understand what was the meaning of my
absurd curiosity. I only remember that I was strangely perplexed by all
that I had chanced to see that morning. But the day was only just
beginning and it was fruitful in events for me.

Dinner was very early that day. An expedition to a neighbouring hamlet
to see a village festival that was taking place there had been fixed for
the evening, and so it was necessary to be in time to get ready. I had
been dreaming for the last three days of this excursion, anticipating
all sorts of delights. Almost all the company gathered together on the
verandah for coffee. I cautiously followed the others and concealed
myself behind the third row of chairs. I was attracted by curiosity, and
yet I was very anxious not to be seen by Mme. M. But as luck would have
it I was not far from my fair tormentor. Something miraculous and
incredible was happening to her that day; she looked twice as handsome.
I don't know how and why this happens, but such miracles are by no means
rare with women. There was with us at this moment a new guest, a tall,
pale-faced young man, the official admirer of our fair beauty, who had
just arrived from Moscow as though on purpose to replace N. , of whom
rumour said that he was desperately in love with the same lady. As for
the newly arrived guest, he had for a long time past been on the same
terms as Benedick with Beatrice, in Shakespeare's _Much Ado about
Nothing_. In short, the fair beauty was in her very best form that day.
Her chatter and her jests were so full of grace, so trustfully naïve, so
innocently careless, she was persuaded of the general enthusiasm with
such graceful self-confidence that she really was all the time the
centre of peculiar adoration. A throng of surprised and admiring
listeners was continually round her, and she had never been so
fascinating. Every word she uttered was marvellous and seductive, was
caught up and handed round in the circle, and not one word, one jest,
one sally was lost. I fancy no one had expected from her such taste,
such brilliance, such wit. Her best qualities were, as a rule, buried
under the most harum-scarum wilfulness, the most schoolboyish pranks,
almost verging on buffoonery; they were rarely noticed, and, when they
were, were hardly believed in, so that now her extraordinary brilliancy
was accompanied by an eager whisper of amazement among all. There was,
however, one peculiar and rather delicate circumstance, judging at least
by the part in it played by Mme. M. 's husband, which contributed to her
success. The madcap ventured--and I must add to the satisfaction of
almost every one or, at any rate, to the satisfaction of all the young
people--to make a furious attack upon him, owing to many causes,
probably of great consequence in her eyes. She carried on with him a
regular cross-fire of witticisms, of mocking and sarcastic sallies, of
that most illusive and treacherous kind that, smoothly wrapped up on the
surface, hit the mark without giving the victim anything to lay hold of,
and exhaust him in fruitless efforts to repel the attack, reducing him
to fury and comic despair.

I don't know for certain, but I fancy the whole proceeding was not
improvised but premeditated. This desperate duel had begun earlier, at
dinner. I call it desperate because M. M. was not quick to surrender. He
had to call upon all his presence of mind, all his sharp wit and rare
resourcefulness not to be completely covered with ignominy. The conflict
was accompanied by the continual and irrepressible laughter of all who
witnessed and took part in it. That day was for him very different from
the day before. It was noticeable that Mme. M. several times did her
utmost to stop her indiscreet friend, who was certainly trying to depict
the jealous husband in the most grotesque and absurd guise, in the guise
of "a bluebeard" it must be supposed, judging from all probabilities,
from what has remained in my memory and finally from the part which I
myself was destined to play in the affair.

I was drawn into it in a most absurd manner, quite unexpectedly. And as
ill-luck would have it at that moment I was standing where I could be
seen, suspecting no evil and actually forgetting the precautions I had
so long practised. Suddenly I was brought into the foreground as a sworn
foe and natural rival of M. M. , as desperately in love with his wife, of
which my persecutress vowed and swore that she had proofs, saying that
only that morning she had seen in the copse. . . .

But before she had time to finish I broke in at the most desperate
minute. That minute was so diabolically calculated, was so treacherously
prepared to lead up to its finale, its ludicrous _dénouement_, and was
brought out with such killing humour that a perfect outburst of
irrepressible mirth saluted this last sally. And though even at the time
I guessed that mine was not the most unpleasant part in the performance,
yet I was so confused, so irritated and alarmed that, full of misery and
despair, gasping with shame and tears, I dashed through two rows of
chairs, stepped forward, and addressing my tormentor, cried, in a voice
broken with tears and indignation:

"Aren't you ashamed . . . aloud . . . before all the ladies . . . to tell such
a wicked . . . lie? . . . Like a small child . . . before all these men. . . .
What will they say? . . . A big girl like you . . . and married! . . . "

But I could not go on, there was a deafening roar of applause. My
outburst created a perfect furore. My naïve gesture, my tears, and
especially the fact that I seemed to be defending M. M. , all this
provoked such fiendish laughter, that even now I cannot help laughing at
the mere recollection of it. I was overcome with confusion, senseless
with horror and, burning with shame, hiding my face in my hands rushed
away, knocked a tray out of the hands of a footman who was coming in at
the door, and flew upstairs to my own room. I pulled out the key, which
was on the outside of the door, and locked myself in. I did well, for
there was a hue and cry after me. Before a minute had passed my door was
besieged by a mob of the prettiest ladies. I heard their ringing
laughter, their incessant chatter, their trilling voices; they were all
twittering at once, like swallows. All of them, every one of them,
begged and besought me to open the door, if only for a moment; swore
that no harm should come to me, only that they wanted to smother me with
kisses. But . . . what could be more horrible than this novel threat? I
simply burned with shame the other side of the door, hiding my face in
the pillows and did not open, did not even respond. The ladies kept up
their knocking for a long time, but I was deaf and obdurate as only a
boy of eleven could be.

But what could I do now? Everything was laid bare, everything had been
exposed, everything I had so jealously guarded and concealed! . . .
Everlasting disgrace and shame had fallen on me!
But it is true that I
could not myself have said why I was frightened and what I wanted to
hide; yet I was frightened of something and had trembled like a leaf at
the thought of _that something's_ being discovered. Only till that
minute I had not known what it was: whether it was good or bad, splendid
or shameful, praiseworthy or reprehensible? Now in my distress, in the
misery that had been forced upon me, I learned that it was _absurd_ and
_shameful_. Instinctively I felt at the same time that this verdict was
false, inhuman, and coarse; but I was crushed, annihilated;
consciousness seemed checked in me and thrown into confusion; I could
not stand up against that verdict, nor criticize it properly. I was
befogged; I only felt that my heart had been inhumanly and shamelessly
wounded, and was brimming over with impotent tears. I was irritated; but
I was boiling with indignation and hate such as I had never felt before,
for it was the first time in my life that I had known real sorrow,
insult, and injury--and it was truly that, without any exaggeration. The
first untried, unformed feeling had been so coarsely handled in me, a
child. The first fragrant, virginal modesty had been so soon exposed and
insulted, and the first and perhaps very real and æsthetic impression
had been so outraged. Of course there was much my persecutors did not
know and did not divine in my sufferings. One circumstance, which I had
not succeeded in analysing till then, of which I had been as it were
afraid, partly entered into it. I went on lying on my bed in despair and
misery, hiding my face in my pillow, and I was alternately feverish and
shivery. I was tormented by two questions: first, what had the wretched
fair beauty seen, and, in fact, what could she have seen that morning in
the copse between Mme. M. and me? And secondly, how could I now look
Mme. M. in the face without dying on the spot of shame and despair?

An extraordinary noise in the yard roused me at last from the state of
semi-consciousness into which I had fallen. I got up and went to the
window. The whole yard was packed with carriages, saddle-horses, and
bustling servants. It seemed that they were all setting off; some of the
gentlemen had already mounted their horses, others were taking their
places in the carriages. . . . Then I remembered the expedition to the
village fête, and little by little an uneasiness came over me; I began
anxiously looking for my pony in the yard; but there was no pony there,
so they must have forgotten me. I could not restrain myself, and rushed
headlong downstairs, thinking no more of unpleasant meetings or my
recent ignominy. . . .

Terrible news awaited me. There was neither a horse nor seat in any of
the carriages to spare for me; everything had been arranged, all the
seats were taken, and I was forced to give place to others. Overwhelmed
by this fresh blow, I stood on the steps and looked mournfully at the
long rows of coaches, carriages, and chaises, in which there was not the
tiniest corner left for me, and at the smartly dressed ladies, whose
horses were restlessly curvetting.

One of the gentlemen was late. They were only waiting for his arrival to
set off. His horse was standing at the door, champing the bit, pawing
the earth with his hoofs, and at every moment starting and rearing. Two
stable-boys were carefully holding him by the bridle, and every one else
apprehensively stood at a respectful distance from him.

A most vexatious circumstance had occurred, which prevented my going. In
addition to the fact that new visitors had arrived, filling up all the
seats, two of the horses had fallen ill, one of them being my pony. But
I was not the only person to suffer: it appeared that there was no horse
for our new visitor, the pale-faced young man of whom I have spoken
already. To get over this difficulty our host had been obliged to have
recourse to the extreme step of offering his fiery unbroken stallion,
adding, to satisfy his conscience, that it was impossible to ride him,
and that they had long intended to sell the beast for its vicious
character, if only a purchaser could be found.

But, in spite of his warning, the visitor declared that he was a good
horseman, and in any case ready to mount anything rather than not go.
Our host said no more, but now I fancied that a sly and ambiguous smile
was straying on his lips. He waited for the gentleman who had spoken so
well of his own horsemanship, and stood, without mounting his horse,
impatiently rubbing his hands and continually glancing towards the door;
some similar feeling seemed shared by the two stable-boys, who were
holding the stallion, almost breathless with pride at seeing themselves
before the whole company in charge of a horse which might any minute
kill a man for no reason whatever. Something akin to their master's sly
smile gleamed, too, in their eyes, which were round with expectation,
and fixed upon the door from which the bold visitor was to appear. The
horse himself, too, behaved as though he were in league with our host
and the stable-boys. He bore himself proudly and haughtily, as though he
felt that he were being watched by several dozen curious eyes and were
glorying in his evil reputation exactly as some incorrigible rogue might
glory in his criminal exploits. He seemed to be defying the bold man who
would venture to curb his independence.

That bold man did at last make his appearance. Conscience-stricken at
having kept every one waiting, hurriedly drawing on his gloves, he came
forward without looking at anything, ran down the steps, and only raised
his eyes as he stretched out his hand to seize the mane of the waiting
horse. But he was at once disconcerted by his frantic rearing and a
warning scream from the frightened spectators. The young man stepped
back and looked in perplexity at the vicious horse, which was quivering
all over, snorting with anger, and rolling his bloodshot eyes
ferociously, continually rearing on his hind legs and flinging up his
fore legs as though he meant to bolt into the air and carry the two
stable-boys with him. For a minute the young man stood completely
nonplussed; then, flushing slightly with some embarrassment, he raised
his eyes and looked at the frightened ladies.

"A very fine horse! " he said, as though to himself, "and to my thinking
it ought to be a great pleasure to ride him; but . . . but do you know, I
think I won't go? " he concluded, turning to our host with the broad,
good-natured smile which so suited his kind and clever face.

"Yet I consider you are an excellent horseman, I assure you," answered
the owner of the unapproachable horse, delighted, and he warmly and even
gratefully pressed the young man's hand, "just because from the first
moment you saw the sort of brute you had to deal with," he added with
dignity. "Would you believe me, though I have served twenty-three years
in the hussars, yet I've had the pleasure of being laid on the ground
three times, thanks to that beast, that is, as often as I mounted the
useless animal. Tancred, my boy, there's no one here fit for you! Your
rider, it seems, must be some Ilya Muromets, and he must be sitting
quiet now in the village of Kapatcharovo, waiting for your teeth to fall
out. Come, take him away, he has frightened people enough. It was a
waste of time to bring him out," he cried, rubbing his hands
complacently.

It must be observed that Tancred was no sort of use to his master and
simply ate corn for nothing; moreover, the old hussar had lost his
reputation for a knowledge of horseflesh by paying a fabulous sum for
the worthless beast, which he had purchased only for his beauty . . . yet
he was delighted now that Tancred had kept up his reputation, had
disposed of another rider, and so had drawn closer on himself fresh
senseless laurels.

"So you are not going? " cried the blonde beauty, who was particularly
anxious that her _cavaliere servente_ should be in attendance on this
occasion. "Surely you are not frightened? "

"Upon my word I am," answered the young man.

"Are you in earnest? "

"Why, do you want me to break my neck? "

"Then make haste and get on my horse; don't be afraid, it is very quiet.
We won't delay them, they can change the saddles in a minute! I'll try
to take yours. Surely Tancred can't always be so unruly. "

No sooner said than done, the madcap leaped out of the saddle and was
standing before us as she finished the last sentence.

"You don't know Tancred, if you think he will allow your wretched
side-saddle to be put on him! Besides, I would not let you break your
neck, it would be a pity! " said our host, at that moment of inward
gratification affecting, as his habit was, a studied brusqueness and
even coarseness of speech which he thought in keeping with a jolly good
fellow and an old soldier, and which he imagined to be particularly
attractive to the ladies. This was one of his favourite fancies, his
favourite whim, with which we were all familiar.

"Well, cry-baby, wouldn't you like to have a try? You wanted so much to
go? " said the valiant horsewoman, noticing me and pointing tauntingly at
Tancred, because I had been so imprudent as to catch her eye, and she
would not let me go without a biting word, that she might not have
dismounted from her horse absolutely for nothing.

"I expect you are not such a---- We all know you are a hero and would be
ashamed to be afraid; especially when you will be looked at, you fine
page," she added, with a fleeting glance at Mme. M. , whose carriage was
the nearest to the entrance.

A rush of hatred and vengeance had flooded my heart, when the fair
Amazon had approached us with the intention of mounting Tancred. . . . But
I cannot describe what I felt at this unexpected challenge from the
madcap. Everything was dark before my eyes when I saw her glance at Mme.
M. For an instant an idea flashed through my mind . . . but it was only a
moment, less than a moment, like a flash of gunpowder; perhaps it was
the last straw, and I suddenly now was moved to rage as my spirit rose,
so that I longed to put all my enemies to utter confusion, and to
revenge myself on all of them and before everyone, by showing the sort
of person I was. Or whether by some miracle, some prompting from
mediæval history, of which I had known nothing till then, sent whirling
through my giddy brain, images of tournaments, paladins, heroes, lovely
ladies, the clash of swords, shouts and the applause of the crowd, and
amidst those shouts the timid cry of a frightened heart, which moves the
proud soul more sweetly than victory and fame--I don't know whether all
this romantic nonsense was in my head at the time, or whether, more
likely, only the first dawning of the inevitable nonsense that was in
store for me in the future, anyway, I felt that my hour had come. My
heart leaped and shuddered, and I don't remember how, at one bound, I
was down the steps and beside Tancred.

"You think I am afraid? " I cried, boldly and proudly, in such a fever
that I could hardly see, breathless with excitement, and flushing till
the tears scalded my cheeks. "Well, you shall see! " And clutching at
Tancred's mane I put my foot in the stirrup before they had time to make
a movement to stop me; but at that instant Tancred reared, jerked his
head, and with a mighty bound forward wrenched himself out of the hands
of the petrified stable-boys, and dashed off like a hurricane, while
every one cried out in horror.

Goodness knows how I got my other leg over the horse while it was in
full gallop; I can't imagine, either, how I did not lose hold of the
reins. Tancred bore me beyond the trellis gate, turned sharply to the
right and flew along beside the fence regardless of the road. Only at
that moment I heard behind me a shout from fifty voices, and that shout
was echoed in my swooning heart with such a feeling of pride and
pleasure that I shall never forget that mad moment of my boyhood. All
the blood rushed to my head, bewildering me and overpowering my fears. I
was beside myself. There certainly was, as I remember it now, something
of the knight-errant about the exploit.

My knightly exploits, however, were all over in an instant or it would
have gone badly with the knight. And, indeed, I do not know how I
escaped as it was. I did know how to ride, I had been taught. But my
pony was more like a sheep than a riding horse. No doubt I should have
been thrown off Tancred if he had had time to throw me, but after
galloping fifty paces he suddenly took fright at a huge stone which lay
across the road and bolted back. He turned sharply, galloping at full
speed, so that it is a puzzle to me even now that I was not sent
spinning out of the saddle and flying like a ball for twenty feet, that
I was not dashed to pieces, and that Tancred did not dislocate his leg
by such a sudden turn. He rushed back to the gate, tossing his head
furiously, bounding from side to side as though drunk with rage,
flinging his legs at random in the air, and at every leap trying to
shake me off his back as though a tiger had leaped on him and were
thrusting its teeth and claws into his back.

In another instant I should have flown off; I was falling; but several
gentlemen flew to my rescue. Two of them intercepted the way into the
open country, two others galloped up, closing in upon Tancred so that
their horses' sides almost crushed my legs, and both of them caught him
by the bridle. A few seconds later we were back at the steps.

They lifted me down from the horse, pale and scarcely breathing. I was
shaking like a blade of grass in the wind; it was the same with Tancred,
who was standing, his hoofs as it were thrust into the earth and his
whole body thrown back, puffing his fiery breath from red and streaming
nostrils, twitching and quivering all over, seeming overwhelmed with
wounded pride and anger at a child's being so bold with impunity. All
around me I heard cries of bewilderment, surprise, and alarm.

At that moment my straying eyes caught those of Mme. M. , who looked pale
and agitated, and--I can never forget that moment--in one instant my
face was flooded with colour, glowed and burned like fire; I don't know
what happened to me, but confused and frightened by my own feelings I
timidly dropped my eyes to the ground. But my glance was noticed, it was
caught, it was stolen from me. All eyes turned on Mme. M. , and finding
herself unawares the centre of attention, she, too, flushed like a child
from some naïve and involuntary feeling and made an unsuccessful effort
to cover her confusion by laughing. . . .

All this, of course, was very absurd-looking from outside, but at that
moment an extremely naïve and unexpected circumstance saved me from
being laughed at by every one, and gave a special colour to the whole
adventure. The lovely persecutor who was the instigator of the whole
escapade, and who till then had been my irreconcileable foe, suddenly
rushed up to embrace and kiss me. She had hardly been able to believe
her eyes when she saw me dare to accept her challenge, and pick up the
gauntlet she had flung at me by glancing at Mme. M. She had almost died
of terror and self-reproach when I had flown off on Tancred; now, when
it was all over, and particularly when she caught the glance at Mme. M. ,
my confusion and my sudden flush of colour, when the romantic strain in
her frivolous little head had given a new secret, unspoken significance
to the moment--she was moved to such enthusiasm over my "knightliness,"
that touched, joyful and proud of me, she rushed up and pressed me to
her bosom. She lifted the most naïve, stern-looking little face, on
which there quivered and gleamed two little crystal tears, and gazing at
the crowd that thronged about her said in a grave, earnest voice, such
as they had never heard her use before, pointing to me: "Mais c'est très
sérieux, messieurs, ne riez pas! " She did not notice that all were
standing, as though fascinated, admiring her bright enthusiasm. Her
swift, unexpected action, her earnest little face, the simple-hearted
naïveté, the unexpected feeling betrayed by the tears that welled in her
invariably laughter-loving eyes, were such a surprise that every one
stood before her as though electrified by her expression, her rapid,
fiery words and gestures. It seemed as though no one could take his eyes
off her for fear of missing that rare moment in her enthusiastic face.
Even our host flushed crimson as a tulip, and people declared that they
heard him confess afterwards that "to his shame" he had been in love for
a whole minute with his charming guest. Well, of course, after this I
was a knight, a hero.

"De Lorge! Toggenburg! " was heard in the crowd.

There was a sound of applause.

"Hurrah for the rising generation! " added the host.

"But he is coming with us, he certainly must come with us," said the
beauty; "we will find him a place, we must find him a place. He shall
sit beside me, on my knee . . . but no, no! That's a mistake! . . . " she
corrected herself, laughing, unable to restrain her mirth at our first
encounter. But as she laughed she stroked my hand tenderly, doing all
she could to soften me, that I might not be offended.

"Of course, of course," several voices chimed in; "he must go, he has
won his place. "

The matter was settled in a trice. The same old maid who had brought
about my acquaintance with the blonde beauty was at once besieged with
entreaties from all the younger people to remain at home and let me have
her seat. She was forced to consent, to her intense vexation, with a
smile and a stealthy hiss of anger. Her protectress, who was her usual
refuge, my former foe and new friend, called to her as she galloped off
on her spirited horse, laughing like a child, that she envied her and
would have been glad to stay at home herself, for it was just going to
rain and we should all get soaked.

And she was right in predicting rain. A regular downpour came on within
an hour and the expedition was done for. We had to take shelter for some
hours in the huts of the village, and had to return home between nine
and ten in the evening in the damp mist that followed the rain. I began
to be a little feverish. At the minute when I was starting, Mme. M. came
up to me and expressed surprise that my neck was uncovered and that I
had nothing on over my jacket. I answered that I had not had time to get
my coat. She took out a pin and pinned up the turned down collar of my
shirt, took off her own neck a crimson gauze kerchief, and put it round
my neck that I might not get a sore throat. She did this so hurriedly
that I had not time even to thank her.

But when we got home I found her in the little drawing-room with the
blonde beauty and the pale-faced young man who had gained glory for
horsemanship that day by refusing to ride Tancred. I went up to thank
her and give back the scarf. But now, after all my adventures, I felt
somehow ashamed. I wanted to make haste and get upstairs, there at my
leisure to reflect and consider. I was brimming over with impressions.
As I gave back the kerchief I blushed up to my ears, as usual.

"I bet he would like to keep the kerchief," said the young man laughing.
"One can see that he is sorry to part with your scarf. "

"That's it, that's it! " the fair lady put in. "What a boy! Oh! " she
said, shaking her head with obvious vexation, but she stopped in time at
a grave glance from Mme. M. , who did not want to carry the jest too far.

I made haste to get away.

"Well, you are a boy," said the madcap, overtaking me in the next room
and affectionately taking me by both hands, "why, you should have simply
not returned the kerchief if you wanted so much to have it. You should
have said you put it down somewhere, and that would have been the end of
it. What a simpleton! Couldn't even do that! What a funny boy!