x saigner sur ta blouse que sur ta tombe.)

So ended the only quarrel we ever had.

Part Third

"Que ne puis-je aller ou s'en vont les roses,
Et n'attendre pas
Ces regrets navrants que la fin des choses
Nous garde ici-bas!"--Anon.

Barty worked very hard, and so did I--for _me_!
Horace--Homer--AEschylus--Plato--etc., etc., etc., etc., etc., and
all there was to learn in that French school-boy's encyclopaedia--"Le
Manuel du Baccalaureat"; a very thick book in very small print. And
I came to the conclusion that it is good to work hard: it makes one
enjoy food and play and sleep so keenly--and Thursday afternoons.

The school was all the pleasanter for having fewer boys; we got more
intimate with each other, and with the masters too. During the
winter M. Bonzig told us capital stories--_Modeste Mignon_, by
Balzac--_Le Chevalier de Maison-rouge_, by A. Dumas pere--etc., etc.

In the summer the Passy swimming-bath was more delightful than ever.
Both winter and summer we passionately fenced with a pupil (un
prevot) of the famous M. Bonnet, and did gymnastics with M. Louis,
the gymnastic master of the College Charlemagne--the finest man I
ever saw--a gigantic dwarf six feet high, all made up of lumps of
sinew and muscles, like....

Also, we were taught equitation at the riding-school in the Rue
Duphot.

On Saturday nights Barty would draw a lovely female profile, with a
beautiful big black eye, in pen and ink, and carefully shade it;
especially the hair, which was always as the raven's wing! And on
Sunday morning he and I used to walk together to 108 Champs Elysees
and enter the rez-de-chaussee (where my mother and sister lived) by
the window, before my mother was up. Then Barty took out his lovely
female pen-and-ink profile to gaze at, and rolled himself a
cigarette and lit it, and lay back on the sofa, and made my sister
play her lightest music--"La pluie de Perles," by Osborne--and
"Indiana," a beautiful valse by Marcailhou--and thus combine three
or four perfect blisses in one happy quart d'heure.

Then my mother would appear, and we would have breakfast--after
which Barty and I would depart by the window as we had come, and go
and do our bit of Boulevard and Palais Royal. Then to the Rue du Bac
for another breakfast with the Rohans; and then, "_au petit
bonheur_"; that is, trusting to Providence for whatever turned up.
The programme didn't vary very much: either I di