Presently I looked up, in spite of piquet, and caught the new boy's eye, which was large and blue and soft, and very sad and sentimental, and looked as if he were thinking of his mammy, as I did constantly of mine during my first week at Brossard's, three years before.
Soon, however, that sad eye slowly winked at me, with an expression so droll that I all but laughed aloud.
Then its owner felt in the inner breast pocket of his Eton jacket with great care, and delicately drew forth by the tail a very fat white mouse, that seemed quite tame, and ran up his arm to his wide shirt collar, and tried to burrow there; and the boys began to interest themselves breathlessly in this engaging little quadruped.
M. Bonzig looked up again, furious; but his spectacles had grown misty from the heat and he couldn't see, and he wiped them; and meanwhile the mouse was quickly smuggled back to its former nest.
Josselin drew a large clean pocket‑handkerchief from his trousers and buried his head in his desk, and there was silence.
"La!—ré, fa!—la!—ré"—
So strummed, over and over again, poor Chardonnet in his remote parlor—he was getting tired.
I have heard "L'Invitation à la Valse" many hundreds of times since then, and in many countries, but never that bar without thinking of Josselin and his little white mouse.
"Fermez votre pupitre, Josselin," said M. Bonzig, after a few minutes.
Josselin shut his desk and beamed genially at the usher.