`Blondeau, my love, you will not get the very smallest sort of an execution to-day.' All at once Blondeau calls, `Marius Pontmercy!'
No one answers.
Blondeau, filled with hope, repeats more loudly:
`Marius Pontmercy!'
And he takes his pen. Monsieur, I have bowels of compassion.
I said to myself hastily: `Here's a brave fellow who is going to get scratched out.
Attention. Here is a veritable mortal who is not exact.
He's not a good student. Here is none of your heavy-sides, a student who studies, a greenhorn pedant, strong on letters, theology, science, and sapience, one of those dull wits cut by the square; a pin by profession. He is an honorable idler who lounges, who practises country jaunts, who cultivates the grisette, who pays court to the fair sex, who is at this very moment, perhaps, with my mistress.
Let us save him.
Death to Blondeau!'
At that moment, Blondeau dipped his pen in, all black with erasures in the ink, cast his yellow eyes round the audience room, and repeated for the third time: `Marius Pontmercy!'
I replied:
`Present!' This is why you were not crossed off."
"Monsieur!--" said Marius.
"And why I was," added Laigle de Meaux.
"I do not understand you," said Marius.
Laigle resumed:--
"Nothing is more simple.
I was close to the desk to reply, and close to the door for the purpose of flight.
The professor gazed at me with a certain intensity.