[ His ] translation ran thus: "Elle se retira dans sa chambre, et fit ses préparatifs pour se coucher. Mais qui aurait pu dormir? Sommeil!"
I caught that boy napping one day.
"Vous dormez, mon ami?... Sommeil, eh?" I cried.
The remark was enjoyed. There is so much charity in the hearts of boys!
Another boy had to translate a piece of Carlyle's "French Revolution": "'Their heads shall fall within a fortnight,' croaks the people's friend (Marat), clutching his tablets to write——Charlotte Corday has drawn her knife from the sheath; plunges it, with one sure stroke, into the writer's heart."
[ The ] end of this powerful sentence ran thus in the translation: "Charlotte Corday a tiré son poignard de la gaîne, et d'une main sûre, elle le plonge dans le cœur de celui qui écrivait."
When I remonstrated with the dear fellow, he pulled his dictionary out of his desk, and triumphantly pointed out to me:
"Writer (substantive), celui qui écrit."
And all the time his look seemed to say:
"What do you think of that? You may be a very clever man; but surely you do not mean to say that you know better than a dictionary!"