the wall. The children were able to stroke his back. Goodness, how
thin he was!

It was the great topic of conversation. We discussed it at table: we
would tame the vagabond, we would keep him, we would make him a bed of
hay. It was a most important matter: I can see to this day, I shall
always see the council of rattleheads deliberating on the Cat's fate.
They were not satisfied until the savage animal remained. Soon he grew
into a magnificent Tom. His large round head, his muscular legs, his
reddish fur, flecked with darker patches, reminded one of a little
jaguar. He was christened Ginger because of his tawny hue. A mate
joined him later, picked up in almost similar circumstances. Such was
the origin of my series of Gingers, which I have retained for little
short of twenty years through the vicissitudes of my various removals.

The first of these removals took place in 1870. A little earlier, a
minister who has left a lasting memory in the University, that fine
man, Victor Duruy (Jean Victor Duruy (1811-1894), author of a number
of historical works, including a well-known "Histoire des Romains",
and minister of public instruction under Napoleon III. from 1863 to
1869. Cf. "The Life of the Fly": chapter 20.--Translator's Note.), had
instituted classes for the secondary education of girls. This was the
beginning, as far as was then possible, of the burning question of
to-day. I very gladly lent my humble aid to this labour of light. I
was put to teach physical and natural science. I had faith and was not
sparing of work, with the result that I rarely faced a more attentive
or interested audience. The days on which the lessons fell were red-
letter days, especially when the lesson was botany and the table
disappeared from view under the treasures of the neighbouring
conservatories.