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‘You are a student?’ demanded Marius.
‘Yes, sir. Like yourself. Day before yesterday, I entered
the school, by chance. You know, one does have such freaks
sometimes. The professor was just calling the roll. You are
not unaware that they are very ridiculous on such occa-
sions. At the third call, unanswered, your name is erased
from the list. Sixty francs in the gulf.’
Marius began to listen.
‘It was Blondeau who was making the call. You know
Blondeau, he has a very pointed and very malicious nose,
and he delights to scent out the absent. He slyly began with
the letter P. I was not listening, not being compromised by
that letter. The call was not going badly. No erasures; the
universe was present. Blondeau was grieved. I said to myself:
‘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, re-
peats 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,