A pair of inspectors walked creakily up to the professor and fawned upon
him; I heard them whispering behind my chair. I ground my teeth in
silent wrath at the thought that these contemptible creatures were paid
for--yes, actually made their living by torturing me and some of my best
friends.

The door opened; a glimmering yellow light fell upon the white faces; it
called to mind 'The Victims of Terrorism' in Luxembourg. Then all again
became dark, and the black-robed emissary of the College flitted through
the room like a bat, with the famous white document in his claws.

He began to read.

Never in my life had I been less inclined for leaping; and yet I started
violently at the first words. 'The monkey!' I had almost shouted; for he
it was--it was evidently the coffee-stain on page 496. The paper bore
precisely upon what I had read with so much energy the preceding night.

And I began to write. After a short, but superior and assured preamble,
I introduced the high-sounding words of Schweigaard, 'One might thus
certainly assume,' etc., and hurried down the left page, with unabated
vigour down the right, reached the monkey, dashed past him, began to
grope and fumble, and then I found I could not write a word more.

I felt that something was wanting, but I knew that it was useless to
speculate; what a man can't do, he can't. I therefore made a full stop,
and went away long before any of the others were half finished.

He has dismounted, thought my fellow-sufferers, or he may have leaped