Acompetency was what I wanted； a competency it was now my aim and resolve to secure； but never had I been farther from the mark.With August the school-year(l’année scolaire) closed， the examinations concluded， the prizeswere adjudged， the schools dispersed， the gates of all colleges， the doors of all pensionnats shut， not to be reopened till the beginning or middle of October.The last day of August was at hand， and what was my position？ Had I advanced a step since the commencement of the past quarter？ On the contrary， I had receded one.By renouncing my engagement as English master in Mdlle Reuter’s establishment， I had voluntarily cut off ？20 from my yearly income； I had diminished my ？60 per annum to ？40， and even that sum I now held by a very precarious tenure.
It is some time since I made any reference to M.Pelet.The moonlight walk is， I think， the last incident recorded in this narrative where that gentleman cuts any conspicuous figure： the fact is， since that event， a change had come over the spirit of our intercourse.He， indeed， ignorant that the still hour， a cloudless moon， and an open lattice， had revealed to me the secret of his selfish love and false friendship， would have continued smooth and complaisant as ever； but I grew spiny as a porcupine， and inflexible as a blackthorn cudgel； I never had a smile for his raillery， never a moment for his society； his invitations to take coffee with him in his parlour were invariably rejected， and very stiffly and sternly rejected too； his jesting allusions to the directress (which he still continued) were heard with a grim calmvery different from the petulant pleasure they were formerly wont to excite.For a long time Pelet bore with my frigid demeanour very patiently； he even increased his attentions； but finding that even a cringing politeness failed to thaw or move me， he at last altered too； in his turn he cooled； his invitations ceased； his countenance became suspicious and overcast， and I read in the perplexed yet brooding aspect of his brow， a constant examination and comparison of premises， and an anxious endeavour to draw thence some explanatory inference.Ere long， I fancy， he succeeded， for he was not without penetration； perhaps， too， Mdlle Zora？de might have aided him in the solution of the enigma； at any rate I soon found that the uncertainty of doubt had vanished from his manner； renouncing all pretence of friendship and cordiality， he adopted a reserved， formal， but still scrupulously polite deportment.This was the point to which I had wished to bring him， and I was now again comparatively at my ease.I did not， it is true， like my position in his house； but being freed from the annoyance of false professions and double-dealing I could endure it， especially as no heroic sentiment of hatred or jealousy of the director distracted my philosophical soul； he had not， I found， wounded me in a very tender point， the wound was so soon and so radically healed， leaving only a sense of contempt for the treacherous fashion in which it had been inflicted， and a lasting mistrust of the hand which I had detected attempting to stab in the dark.
This state of things continued till about the middle of July， and then there was a little change； Pelet came home one night， an hour after his usual time， in a state of unequivocal intoxication， a thing anomalous with him； for if he had some of the worst faults of hiscountrymen， he had also one at least of their virtues， i.e.sobriety.So drunk， however， was he upon this occasion， that after having roused the whole establishment (except the pupils， whose dormitory being over the classes in a building apart from the dwelling-house， was consequently out of the reach of disturbance) by violently ringing the hall-bell and ordering lunch to be brought in immediately， for he imagined it was noon， whereas the city bells had just tolled midnight； after having furiously rated the servants for their want of punctuality， and gone near to chastise his poor old mother， who advised him to go to bed， he began raving dreadfully about “le maudit Anglais， Creemsvort.” I had not yet retired； some German books I had got hold of had kept me up late； I heard the uproar below， and could distinguish the director’s voice exalted in a manner as appalling as it was unusual.Opening my door a little， I became aware of a demand on his part for “Creemsvort” to be brought down to him that he might cut his throat on the hall-table and wash his honour， which he affirmed to be in a dirty condition， in infernal British blood.“He is either mad or drunk，” thought I， “and in either case the old woman and the servants will be the better of a man’s assistance，” so I descended straight to the hall.I found him staggering about， his eyes in a fine frenzy rolling—a pretty sight he was， a just medium between the fool and the lunatic.
