orthless?"

"Indeed, sir, your examples are perfect."

"Well, then, imitate them, imbecile!"

"I will try, sir."

In this, as in all preceding lessons, I could give only a blind
imitation, which had not the small merit of being twice alike, even in
my own eyes, for every time I reproduced them I observed marked
variations which the master did not perceive.

I went to my room, as I had done many times before, with tears in my
eyes and despair in my heart, to renew my useless efforts, vainly
turning and returning in all lights my unfortunate papa Dugrand.

This cruel ordeal lasted five months without the least progress to
lessen its bitterness.

Heaven knows with what ardor I cultivated my papa Dugrand! I thought of
him by day, and I dreamed of him by night. I clung to him with all the
frenzy of despair, for I was determined not to be beaten. I was bound to
triumph at any cost, for it was life or death to me. I resolved not to
give up papa Dugrand, even though he should resist me ten years!

My unceasing repetitions of (to them abominable) papa Dugrand caused my
comrades to call me a bore. In short, I became disagreeable to all
around me. Alas! all this study, all these efforts, could not overcome
the stubborn resistance of papa Dugrand. My teachers were at their wits'
end, and finally refused to give me another lesson on the subject. But
nothing could daunt the ardor of my zeal.

One day I was measuring the court-yard of the Conservatory, as usual, in
company with papa Dugrand, and repeating my "how are you?" in every
variety of tone, when, all at once, having got as far as: "How are you,
pa--," I stopped short without finishing my phrase. It was interrupted
by the sight of a cousin of mine, whose visit was most unexpected.

"Ah! how are you?" I said; "how are you, dear cou--"

Here my words were again interrupted by a surprise; but this surprise
was far greater than that caused by the appearance of my cousin. Struck
by the analogy between this greeting and the unstudied attitude which I
had assumed under the action of a genuine emotion, I cried in a
transport of joy which bewildered my innocent cousin: "Leave me--don't
disturb me--I've got it--wait for me--stay where you are--I've got it."

"But what is it that you've got?"

"The dickens, papa Dugrand!"

Thereupon I vanished like a flash, to run to my mirror and reproduce to
my sight papa Dugrand, Judge of my astonishment: not only my gesture,
until now