"Rapaud, translate me that line of Virgil!" says Boulot.
"J'estime les Danois et leurs dents de fer!" says poor Rapaud (I esteem the Danish and their iron teeth). And we all laughed. For which he underwent the brutal slapping.
The window was ajar, and outside I saw du Tertre‑Jouan, Jolivet, and Berquin, listening and peeping through. Suddenly the window bursts wide open, and
A TERTRE-JOUAN TO THE RESCUE!
du Tertre‑Jouan vaults the sill, gets between Boulot and his victim, and says:
"Le troisième coup fait feu, vous savez! touchez‑y encore, à ce moutard, et j'vous assomme sur place!" (Touch him again, that kid, and I'll break your head where you stand!).
There was an awful row, of course—and du Tertre‑Jouan had to make a public apology to M. Boulot, who disappeared from the school the very same day; and Tertre‑Jouan would have been canonized by us all, but that he was so deplorably dull and narrow‑minded, and suspected of being a royalist in disguise. He was an orphan and very rich, and didn't fash himself about examinations. He left school that year without taking any degree—and I don't know what became of him.
This year also Barty conceived a tender passion for Mlle. Marceline.