. Short stories of the tragedy and comedy of life with a critical preface . man; butat last he turned to me and said: *0h! What a horrible thing! SIMONS PAPA OON had just struck. The school-door opened and the youngstersstreamed out tumbling over oneanother in their haste to get outquickly. But instead of promptlydispersing and going home to dinneras was their daily wont, they stoppeda few paces off, broke up into knotsand set to whispering. The fact was that that morning Simon,the son of La Blanchotte, had, for thefirst time, attended school. They had all of them in their familiesheard of La
. Short stories of the tragedy and comedy of life with a critical preface . man; butat last he turned to me and said: *0h! What a horrible thing! SIMONS PAPA OON had just struck. The school-door opened and the youngstersstreamed out tumbling over oneanother in their haste to get outquickly. But instead of promptlydispersing and going home to dinneras was their daily wont, they stoppeda few paces off, broke up into knotsand set to whispering. The fact was that that morning Simon,the son of La Blanchotte, had, for thefirst time, attended school. They had all of them in their familiesheard of La Blanchotte; and although inpublic she was welcome enough, the mothers amongthemselves treated her with compassion of a some-what disdainful kind, which the children had caughtwithout in the least knowing why. As for Simon himself, they did not know him, forhe never went abroad, and did not play around withthem through the streets of the village or along thebanks of the river. So they loved him but little; and itwas with a certain delight, mingled with astonishment, (230. 232 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT that they gathered in groups this morning, repeatingto each other this sentence, concocted by a lad offourteen or fifteen who appeared to know all aboutit, so sagaciously did he wink: You know Simon— well, he has no papa. La Blanchottes son appeared in his turn upon thethreshold of the school. He was seven or eight years old, rather pale, veryneat, with a timid and almost awkward manner. He was making his way back to his mothershouse when the various groups of his schoolfellows,perpetually whispering, and watching him with themischievous and heartless eyes of children bent uponplaying a nasty trick, gradually surrounded him andended by inclosing him altogether. There he stoodamid them, surprised and embarrassed, not under-standing what they were going to do with him. Butthe lad who had brought the news, puffed up withthe success he had met with, demanded: **What do you call your
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