Saturday, 29th.
On my return to school, the first thing I heard was some bad news.
Garrone had not been there for several days because his mother was
seriously ill. She died on Saturday. Yesterday morning, as soon as we
came into school, the teacher said to us:--
"The greatest misfortune that can happen to a boy has happened to poor
Garrone: his mother is dead. He will return to school to-morrow. I
beseech you now, boys, respect the terrible sorrow that is now rending
his soul. When he enters, greet him with affection, and gravely; let no
one jest, let no one laugh at him, I beg of you."
And this morning poor Garrone came in, a little later than the rest; I
felt a blow at my heart at the sight of him. His face was haggard, his
eyes were red, and he was unsteady on his feet; it seemed as though he
had been ill for a month. I hardly recognized him; he was dressed all in
black; he aroused our pity. No one even breathed; all gazed at him. No
sooner had he entered than at the first sight of that schoolroom whither
his mother had come to get him nearly every day, of that bench over
which she had bent on so many examination days to give him a last bit of
advice, and where he had so many times thought of her, in his impatience
to run out and meet her, he burst into a desperate fit of weeping. The
teacher drew him aside to his own place, and pressed him to his breast,
and said to him:--
"Weep, weep, my poor boy; but take courage. Your mother is no longer
here; but she sees you, she still loves you, she still lives by your
side, and one day you will behold her once again, for you have a good
and upright soul like her own. Take courage!"
Having said this, he accompanied him to the bench near me. I dared not
look at him. He drew out his copy-books and his books, which he had not
opened for many days, and as he opened the reading-book at a place where
there was a cut representing a mother leading her son by the hand, he
burst out crying again, and laid his head on his arm. The master made us
a sign to leave him thus, and began the lesson. I should have liked to
say something to him, but I did not know what. I laid one hand on his
arm, and whispered in his ear:--
"Don't cry, Garrone."
He made no reply, and without raising his head from the bench he laid
his hand on mine and kept it there a while. At the close of school, no
one addressed him; all the boys hovered round him respectfully, and in
silence. I saw my mother waiting for me, and ran to embrace her; but she
repulsed me, and gazed at Garrone. For the moment I could not understand
why; but then I perceived that Garrone was standing apart by himself and
gazing at me; and he was gazing at me with a look of indescribable
sadness, which seemed to say: "You are embracing your mother, and I
shall never embrace mine again! You have still a mother, and mine is
dead!" And then I understood why my mother had thrust me back, and I
went out without taking her hand.