Shut up in his room, he was filled with a great pity for himself
and longed to recover the peace of mind, the calm of the senses, the
happy life that had vanished along with the leaf he had abandoned
that evening to the drifting current. He opened a novel, but at
the first mention of love he pitched the volume down, and fell
to reading a book of travel, following the steps of an English
explorer into the reed palace of the King of Uganda. He ascended
the Upper Nile to Urondogami; hippopotamuses snorted in the swamps,
waders and guinea-fowl rose in flight, while a herd of antelopes
sped flying through the tall grasses. He was recalled from far,
far away by his aunt shouting up the stairs:

"Jean! Jean! come down into the shop; your father wants you."

A stout, red-faced man, with the bent shoulders that come of
much stooping over the desk, sat beside the counter. Monsieur
Servien's eyes rested on his face with a deprecating air.

When the boy appeared, the stranger asked if this was the young
man in question, adding in a scolding voice:

"You are all the same. You work and sweat and wear yourselves
out to make your sons bachelors of arts, and you think the day
after the examination the fine fellows will be posted Ambassadors.
For God's sake! no more graduates, if you please! We can't tell
what to do with 'em.... Graduates indeed! Why, they block the
road; they are cab-drivers, they distribute handbills in the
streets. You have 'em dying in hospital, rotting in the hulks!
Why didn't you teach your son your own trade? Why didn't you