Thursday, 24th.
The master is very ill, and they have sent in his stead the master of
the fourth grade, who has been a teacher in the Institute for the Blind.
He is the oldest of all the instructors, with hair so white that it
looks like a wig made of cotton, and he speaks in a peculiar manner, as
though he were chanting a melancholy song; but he does it well, and he
knows a great deal. No sooner had he entered the schoolroom than,
catching sight of a boy with a bandage on his eye, he approached the
bench, and asked him what was the matter.
"Take care of your eyes, my boy," he said to him. And then Derossi asked
him:--
"Is it true, sir, that you have been a teacher of the blind?"
"Yes, for several years," he replied. And Derossi said, in a low tone,
"Tell us something about it."
The master went and seated himself at his table.