The long train of offerings followed: all the pupils, sweeping past with the gliding step foreigners practise, left their tributes as they went by. Each girl so dexterously adjusted her separate gift that, when the last bouquet was laid on the desk, it formed the apex to a blooming pyramid—a pyramid blooming, spreading, and towering with such exuberance as, in the end, to eclipse the hero behind it. This ceremony over, seats were resumed, and we sat in dead silence, expectant of a speech.
I suppose five minutes might have elapsed, and the hush remained unbroken; ten—and there was no sound.
Many present began, doubtless, to wonder for what Monsieur waited: as well they might. Voiceless and viewless, stirless and wordless, he kept his station behind the pile of flowers.
At last there issued forth a voice, rather deep, as if it spoke out of a hollow:—
"Est-ce là tout?"
Mademoiselle Zélie looked round.
"You have all presented your bouquets?" inquired she of the pupils.
Yes; they had all given their nosegays from the eldest to the youngest, from the tallest to the
