Heart/Envy
your body; it is a serpent which gnaws at the brain and corrupts the heart.”
Every one stared at him except Derossi. Votini tried to make some answer, but could not; he sat there as though turned to stone, and with a white face. Then, while the master was conducting the lesson, he began to write in large characters on a sheet of paper, “I am not jealous of those who gain the first medal through favoritism and injustice.” It was a note which he meant to send to Derossi. But in the meantime. I saw that Derossi's neighbors were plotting among themselves and whispering in each other's ears, and one cut with a penknife from paper a big medal on which they had drawn a black serpent. Votini also noticed this. The master went out for a few moments. All at once Derossi's friends rose and left their seats, for the purpose of coming and solemnly presenting the paper medal to Votini. The whole class was prepared for a scene. Votini had already begun to quiver all over. Derossi exclaimed:—
“Give that to me!”
“So much the better,” they replied; “you are the one who ought to carry it.”
Derossi took the medal and tore it into bits. At that moment the master returned, and resumed the lesson. I kept my eye on Votini. He had turned as red as a coal. He took his sheet of paper very, very quietly, as though in absence of mind, rolled it into a ball, on the sly, put it into his mouth, chewed it a little, and then spit it out under the bench. Then school broke up. Votini, who was a little confused, dropped his blotting-paper, as he passed Derossi. Derossi politely picked it up, put it in Votini's satchel, and helped him to buckle the straps. Votini dared not raise his eyes.
FRANTI'S MOTHER
But Votini is stubborn. Yesterday morning, during the lesson on religion, in the presence of the principal, the teacher asked Derossi if he knew by heart the two couplets in the reading-book,—
“Where'er I turn my gaze,
Tis Thee, great God, I see.”
Derossi said that he did not, and Votini suddenly exclaimed, “I know them!” with a smile, as though to pique Derossi. But he was piqued himself, instead, for he could not recite the poetry, because Franti's mother suddenly flew into the schoolroom, breathless, with her gray hair dishevelled and all wet with snow, and pushing before her her son, who had been suspended from school for a week. What a sad scene we were doomed to witness! The poor woman flung herself almost on her knees before the principal, with clasped hands, and besought him:—
“Oh, Signor Director, do me the favor to put my boy back in school! He has been at home for three days. I have kept him hidden; but God have mercy on him, if his father finds out about this affair: he will murder him! Have pity! I no longer know what to do! I entreat you with my whole soul!”