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Updated: June 10, 2025
Poor Nelli, who suffers much from the heat, has turned the color of wax in the face; he sometimes falls into a heavy sleep, with his head on his copy-book; but Garrone is always watchful, and places an open book upright in front of him, so that the master may not see him.
It was this very morning that Garrone let us know what he is like. When I entered the school a little late, because the mistress of the upper first had stopped me to inquire at what hour she could find me at home, the master had not yet arrived, and three or four boys were tormenting poor Crossi, the one with the red hair, who has a dead arm, and whose mother sells vegetables.
At the close of school, no one addressed him; all the boys hovered round him respectfully, and in silence. I saw my mother waiting for me, and ran to embrace her; but she repulsed me, and gazed at Garrone.
"Will you have the goodness to let him come here for a moment, as I have a word to say to him?" The head-master called the beadle and sent him to the school, and after a minute Garrone appeared on the threshold, with his big, close-cropped head, in perfect amazement.
When the assistant re-entered, with red eyes, not a breath was audible. He stood in amazement; then, catching sight of Garrone, who was still all fiery and trembling, he understood it all, and he said to him, with accents of great affection, as he might have spoken to a brother, "I thank you, Garrone."
We all passed before them. I invited him to come to the house on Thursday, with Garrone and Crossi; others saluted him; one bestowed a caress on him, another touched his medal, all said something to him; and his father stared at us in amazement, as he still held his son's head pressed to his breast, while the boy sobbed. Sunday, 5th. That medal given to Precossi has awakened a remorse in me.
"Nonsense!" rejoined Derossi; "for me, Garrone will always be Garrone, Precossi will always be Precossi, and the same with all the others, were I to become the emperor of Russia: where they are, there I shall go also." "Bless you!" exclaimed the elder Coretti, raising his flask; "that's the way to talk, by Heavens! Touch your glass here!
Then once more turning to the astonished boy, he went on: "You see, we had a jail delivery here last night. A desperate scoundrel managed to slip away undetected and we only found it out this morning. And the man who got out was your old friend, Jules Garrone, the French aviator, who was caught by the help of the Bird boys and their bully little aeroplane! Get that, Frank?"
In the same manner I confusedly recall my master, who bent over to kiss me, and who pricked my face a little with his beard; and I saw, as in a mist, the red head of Crossi, the golden curls of Derossi, the Calabrian clad in black, all pass by, and Garrone, who brought me a mandarin orange with its leaves, and ran away in haste because his mother is ill.
Do you understand?" Garrone nodded assent, while great and fast-flowing tears streamed over his hands, his copy-book, and his desk. At one o'clock we went with our schoolmaster to the front of the town-hall, to see the medal for civic valor bestowed on the lad who saved one of his comrades from the Po. On the front terrace waved a huge tricolored flag. We entered the courtyard of the palace.
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