Monday, 10th.
At one o'clock we all assembled once more for the last time at the
school, to hear the results of the examinations, and to take our little
promotion books. The street was thronged with parents, who had even
invaded the big hall, and many had made their way into the class-rooms,
thrusting themselves even to the master's desk: in our room they filled
the entire space between the wall and the front benches. There were
Garrone's father, Derossi's mother, the blacksmith Precossi, Coretti,
Signora Nelli, the vegetable-vender, the father of the little mason,
Stardi's father, and many others whom I had never seen; and on all sides
a whispering and a hum were audible, that seemed to proceed from the
square outside.
The master entered, and a profound silence ensued. He had the list in
his hand, and began to read at once.
"Abatucci, promoted, sixty seventieths. Archini, promoted, fifty-five
seventieths."--The little mason promoted; Crossi promoted. Then he read
loudly:--
"Ernesto Derossi, promoted, seventy seventieths, and the first prize."