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Votini placed himself between me and the boy. All at once he recollected that he was well dressed, and wanted to make his neighbor admire and envy him. He lifted one foot, and said to me, "Have you seen my officer's boots?" He said this in order to make the other boy look at them; but the latter paid no attention to them.
We were standing in a group on the sidewalk, watching them: Garrone, squeezed into his clothes, which were too tight for him, was biting at a large piece of bread; Votini, the well-dressed boy, who always wears Florence plush; Precossi, the son of the blacksmith, with his father's jacket; and the Calabrian; and the "little mason"; and Crossi, with his red head; and Franti, with his bold face; and Robetti, too, the son of the artillery captain, the boy who saved the child from the omnibus, and who now walks on crutches.
On all sides the words were audible: "Good by until next year! Until the twentieth of October!" We greeted each other, too. Ah! now all disagreements were forgotten at that moment! Votini, who had always been so jealous of Derossi, was the first to throw himself on him with open arms.
As he was saying this, his father came up, and heard him; he looked steadily at the lad for a moment, then said sharply to his son, "Hold your tongue!" and, bending down to his ear, he added, "he is blind!" Votini sprang to his feet, with a shudder, and stared the boy in the face: the latter's eyeballs were glassy, without expression, without sight.
He barely returned our salute, the rude fellow! Votini was well dressed even too much so. He had on morocco boots embroidered in red, an embroidered coat, small silken frogs, a white beaver hat, and a watch; and he strutted. But his vanity was destined to come to a bad end on this occasion.
Votini stood humbled, speechless, with his eyes fixed on the ground. At length he stammered, "I am sorry; I did not know." But the blind boy, who had understood it all, said, with a kind and melancholy smile, "Oh, it's no matter!" Well, he is vain; but Votini has not at all a bad heart. He never laughed again during the whole of the walk. Saturday, 10th. Farewell, walks to Rivoli!
Wednesday, 25th. The boy who wrote the best composition of all on our country was Derossi, as usual. And Votini, who thought himself sure of the first medal I like Votini well enough, although he is rather vain and does polish himself up a trifle too much, but it makes me scorn him, now that I am his neighbor on the bench, to see how envious he is of Derossi.
And thus every one knows about it, so that when the master praises Derossi they all turn to look at Votini, who chews his venom, and the little mason makes a hare's face at him. To-day, for instance, he was put to the torture. The head-master entered the school and announced the result of the examination, "Derossi ten tenths and the first medal." Votini gave a huge sneeze.
The last was Votini, who had come very finely dressed and brushed, promoted. After reading the last name, the master rose and said: "Boys, this is the last time that we shall find ourselves assembled together in this room. We have been together a year, and now we part good friends, do we not? I am sorry to part from you, my dear boys."
There is one who is very well dressed, who always wears fine Florentine plush, and is named Votini.
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