"
The professor remained a while longer at the window, abstractedly
staring at the drops which hastened after one another from the wet
eaves. Suddenly he turned around, and walked up to the table, flapping
his slipper-heels, and settling his spectacles, as he went.
"Did any one ever speak to you of your mother, sir?" demanded he in the
ear of the reading Bressant. "Confound the fellow!" passed at the same
time through his mind; "does he think I'm a chair or a table?"
"My mother?" repeated the young man, looking up, and appearing somewhat
surprised at the idea of his ever having possessed the article. "Oh,
yes! my father once told me she was dead. It was long ago. I'd almost
forgotten it."
"Told you she was dead, hey? Humph! just what I expected!" growled the
old gentleman, who seemed, however, to become additionally wrathful at
the intelligence. After a moment's scowl straight at his would-be pupil,
he shuffled up to his chair, and sat solidly down in it. Bressant (to
whom the professor had probably appeared to the full as peculiar as he
to the professor), seeing signs of an approach to business in his action
and attitude, tossed his book on the table, leaned forward with his
elbows on his knees, and fixed his eyes directly upon the old
gentleman's glasses.
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