He answered curtly and crossly. Everything stirred his gorge.
His aunt's print gown filled him with a sort of rage.

His father propounded a hundred minute inquiries; he would fain
have pictured the whole expedition to himself as he consumed his
bowl of soup. He had seen Saint-Cloud in his soldiering days;
but he had never been there since. He had a bright idea; they
would go to Versailles, the three of them; his sister would see
to having a bit of veal cooked overnight, and they could take
it with them. They would have a look at the pictures, eat their
snack on the great lawn, and have a fine time generally.

Jean, who was horrified at the whole project, opened his
exercise-books and buried his head in his lessons, to avoid the
necessity of hearing any more and answering questions. He did not
as a rule show such alacrity about setting to work. His father
remarked on the fact, commending him for his zeal.

"We should play," he announced, "when it is play-time, and work
when it is the time to work," and _he_ set to work flattening
a piece of shagreen.

Jean fell into a brown study. He had caught a glimpse of a world
he knew to be for ever closed against him, but towards which
all the forces of his young heart drew him irresistibly. He did
not dream Madame Ewans could ever be different from what he had
seen her. He could not imagine her otherwise dressed or amid any
other surroundings. He knew nothing whatever of women; this one
had seemed motherly to him, and it was a mother such as Madame
Ewans he would have liked to have. But how his heart beat and