I speak not ignorant of these evils.

Till the date at which the last chapter closes, M. Paul had not been my professor⁠—he had not given me lessons, but about that time, accidentally hearing me one day acknowledge an ignorance of some branch of education (I think it was arithmetic), which would have disgraced a charity-school boy, as he very truly remarked, he took me in hand, examined me first, found me, I need not say, abundantly deficient, gave me some books and appointed me some tasks.

He did this at first with pleasure, indeed with unconcealed exultation, condescending to say that he believed I was bonne et pas trop faible ( i.e. well enough disposed, and not wholly destitute of parts), but, owing he supposed to adverse circumstances, “as yet in a state of wretchedly imperfect mental development.”