It happened occasionally; and since I had had the experience, I used to
hope that it might occur often, and especially did I wish for a storm
when I had failed to prepare my lessons. One inhuman professor had
instituted Thursday tasks, and it was necessary for me to drag my text
and copy-books with me to Limoise; my beloved holidays, spent in the
sweet open air, were overcast by their dark shadow.

One evening at about eight o'clock the much desired storm broke upon
us with superb fury. Lucette and I were in the large drawing-room that
resounded with the noise of the thunder, and we felt none too safe
there. Its great wall-spaces were broken by only two or three old
engravings in ancient frames. Lucette, under her mother's direction,
was putting the finishing touches to a piece of needle work, and, on the
rather worn-out piano, I was playing, with the soft pedal down, one of
Rameau's dances; the old-fashioned music sounded exquisite to me as it
mingled with the noise of the great thunder claps.

When Lucette's work was completed, she turned over the leaves of my
copy-book lying on the table. After she had examined it she gave me a
meaning look, intended only for my eyes, that said as plainly as a look
can that she knew I had neglected my task. Suddenly she asked: "where
did you leave your Duruy's 'History'?"

My Duruy's "History"! Where indeed had I left it? It was a new book with
scarcely a blot in it. Great heavens! I had forgotten it and left it out
of doors at the far end of the garden in the most removed asparagus bed.
For my historical studies I had selected the asparagus bed which was
like a bit of copse, for the feathery green plants, past their season,
grew high and luxuriant; a hazel glen, leafy and impenetrable, and