Next morning I set out for St. Menehould, to see about M. Drouet’s job. He told me what he wanted, and that he should require the new furniture I was to make him to be of good, well-seasoned oak. In order that I might set about it the more easily, he paid me one hundred francs in advance; and with this prodigious sum in my pocket, I went off to select the necessary timber, when whom should I meet but Bertrand. The old soldier informed me that M. Drouet had spoken to him about giving me fencing lessons, and I arranged with him, on the spot, when I was to take them. In fact, I began that very day. I remember well how my hand trembled with pleasure, when I grasped the foil for the first time. At the end of an hour, I knew the five parades, and could disengage decently. “That will do for to-day,” cried my master, more tired than I was myself. I recollected something. “Monsieur Bertrand,” said I; “I shall perhaps not be able to pay you till the end of the month.” “Oh, that’s all settled. Monsieur Drouet has paid me a month in advance. He said that he owed you money.” I felt a glow of emotion at this new proof of my good friend’s generosity. As I was crossing a field on my way home, I met the surveyor, M. Mathieu. My good genius had preceded me there, too: the surveyor was quite ready to impart to me the mysteries of the chain and level. Leaving him, I went home in great glee, took my gun, and sallied forth to slaughter partridges for my Latin master. I was fortunate enough to knock over a brace of birds and a hare, which I sent the same night to the Abbé Fortin. Next day, as I was planing away with great zeal, the Abbé himself stood before me. “Well, my boy, you have sent me some game, and you must now help me to eat it. Dinner at two, and I shall be glad to see your uncle, if he will come with you.” “Oh, Monsieur l’Abbé, it is too much honor!” “At two o’clock, mind. Marguerite, the housekeeper, does not like to be kept waiting.” So saying, the worthy Curé left me. My uncle, I found, would not be at home till the evening, so, at the hour appointed, I found myself alone, tapping at the Abbé’s door, and dressed out in all my Sunday splendor. The Curé opened it himself. “Ah, monsieur, I am so sorry to trouble you!” “Trouble? Nonsense! Only Marguerite cannot be at the door and at her kitchen stove at the same time. Talking of which, she tells me we will not have dinner till three. Now, what do you say to a first Latin lesson, as my friend Drouet tells me that you wish to learn that language.” I was only too glad to acquiesce; and, before dinner was served, I understood that there were five declensions in the Roman tongue. During the simple repast which followed, I surveyed the Abbé’s furniture with a critical eye, and a mental resolve to do it all up for him again.