frog, the rabbit, the ass, the dog, the cat: all persons of my
acquaintance. The glorious book was immensely to my taste, with
its skimpy illustrations on which the animal walked and talked. As
to understanding what it said, that was another story! Never mind,
my lad! Put together syllables that say nothing to you as yet; they
will speak to you later and La Fontaine will always remain your
friend.

I come to the time when I was ten years old and at Rodez College.
My functions as a serving boy in the chapel entitled me to free
instruction as a day boarder. There were four of us in white
surplices and red skull-caps and cassocks. I was the youngest of
the party and did little more than walk on. I counted as a unit;
and that was about all, for I was never certain when to ring the
bell or move the missal. I was all of a tremble when we gathered
two on this side and two on that, with genuflection's, in the
middle of the sanctuary, to intone the Domine, salvum fac regern at
the end of mass. Let me make a confession: tongue-tied with
shyness, I used to leave it to the others.

Nevertheless, I was well thought of, for, in the school, I cut a
good figure in composition and translation. In that classical
atmosphere, there was talk of Procas, King of Alba, and of his two
sons, Numitor and Amulius. We heard of Cynoegirus, the strong
jawed man, who, having lost his two hands in battle, seized and
held a Persian galley with his teeth, and of Cadmus the Phoenician,
who sowed a dragon's teeth as though they were beans and gathered
his harvest in the shape of a host of armed men, who killed one
another as they rose up from the ground. The only one who survived
the slaughter was one as tough as leather, presumably the son of