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the professor.
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I replied by a look and an interrogative, "Monsieur?" which startled him.
He laughed a forced laugh, affirmed that he had only been joking, and demanded whether I could possibly have thought him in earnest. Just then the bell rang; the play-hour was over; it was an evening on which M. Pelet was accustomed to read passages from the drama and the belles lettres to his pupils. He did not wait for my answer, but rising left the room, humming as he went some gay strain of Béranger's.
