“The rest?” said the archdeacon.
“Alas! my very dear brother, I should like to settle down to a better life. I come to you full of contrition, I am penitent. I make my confession. I beat my breast violently. You are quite right in wishing that I should some day become a licentiate and sub-monitor in the college of Torchi. At the present moment I feel a magnificent vocation for that profession. But I have no more ink and I must buy some; I have no more paper, I have no more books, and I must buy some.
For this purpose, I am greatly in need of a little money, and I come to you, brother, with my heart full of contrition.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes,” said the scholar. “A little money.”