t he
felt the approach of the moment which summoned him to this dread duty,
for, in addition to the lively spite of Master Felix and the other
children, he had to face the awful superintendence of Mrs. Tootle
herself; who was invariably present at these lessons. Mrs. Tootle had
somehow conceived the idea that French was a second mother-tongue to
her, and her intercourse with Mr. Egger was invariably carried on in
that language. Now this was a refinement of torture, seeing that it was
often impossible to gather a meaning from her remarks, whilst to show
any such difficulty was to incur her most furious wrath. Egger trembled
when he heard the rustle of her dress outside, the perspiration stood
on his forehead as he rose and bowed before her.

"Bon jour, Monsieur," she would come in exclaiming. "Quel un beau
matin! Vous trouverez les jeunes dames et messieurs en bons esprits ce
matin."

The spirits of Master Felix had manifested themselves already in his
skilfully standing a book upright on the teacher's chair, so that when
Egger subsided from his obeisance he sat down on a sharp edge and was
thrown into confusion.

"Monsieur Felix," cried his mother, "que faites-vous la?--Les jeunes
messieurs anglais sont plus spirituels que les jeunes messieurs
suisses, n'est ce pas, Monsieur Egger?"

"En effet, madame," muttered the teacher, nervously arranging his books.

"Monsieur Egger," exclaimed Mrs. Tootle, with a burst of good humour,
"est-ce vrai ce qu'on dit que les Suisses sont si excessivement sujets
a etre _chez-malades_?"

The awful moment had come. What on earth did _chez-malades_ mean? Was
he to answer yes or no? In his ignorance of her meaning, either reply
might prove offensive. He reddened, fidgeted on his chair, looked about
him with an anguished mute appeal for help. Mrs. Tootle repeated her
question with emphasis and a change of countenance which he knew too
well. The poor fellow had not the tact to appear to understand, and, as
he might easily have done, mystify her by some idiomatic remark. He
stammered out his apologies and excuses, with the effect of making Mrs.
Tootle furious.

Then followed a terrible hour, at the end of which poor Egger rushed
down to the Masters' Room, covered his head with his hands and wept,
regardless of the boy strumming his exercises on the piano. Waymark
shortly came in to summon him to some other class, whereupon he rose,
and, with gestures of despair, groaned out--

"Let m