Morning lessons had quite changed. They were no longer sleepy and boring. I looked forward to them. Sometimes we both listened to the clergyman with the greatest attention. A glance from my neighbor would suffice, calling my attention to a strange story or a peculiar text. And another glance from him, a very decided one, acted on me as an admonition, arousing criticism and doubt.

But very often we were bad pupils and heard nothing of the lesson. Demian was always courteous towards masters and schoolfellows. I never saw him commit a schoolboy prank, never heard him laugh out loud or talk in class; he never drew on himself the master’s blame. But noiselessly, rather by signs and glances than by whispered words, he knew how to let me share in his own occupations. These were, in part, of a peculiar nature.