and was thrown into confusion.

"Monsieur Felix," cried his mother, "que faites-vous la?--Les
jeunes messieurs anglais sont plus spirituels que les jeunes
messieurs suisses, n'est ce pas, Monsieur Egger?"

"En effet, madame," muttered the teacher, nervously arranging his
books.

"Monsieur Egger," exclaimed Mrs. Tootle, with a burst of good
humour, "est-ce vrai ce qu'on dit que les Suisses sont si
excessivement sujets a etre _chez-malades_?"

The awful moment had come. What on earth did _chez-malades_ mean?
Was he to answer yes or no? In his ignorance of her meaning, either
reply might prove offensive. He reddened, fidgeted on his chair,
looked about him with an anguished mute appeal for help. Mrs. Tootle
repeated her question with emphasis and a change of countenance
which he knew too well. The poor fellow had not the tact to appear
to understand, and, as he might easily have done, mystify her by
some idiomatic remark. He stammered out his apologies and excuses,
with the effect of making Mrs. Tootle furious.

Then followed a terrible hour, at the end of which poor Egger rushed
down to the Masters' Room, covered his head with his hands and wept,
regardless of the boy strumming his exercises on the piano. Waymark
shortly came in to summon him to some other class, whereupon he
rose, and, with gestures of despair, groaned out--

"Let me, let me!--I have made my possible; I can no more!"