He learned his error. Though answers to the questions surged up fast, my mind filling like a rising well, ideas were there, but not words. I either could not, or would not speak⁠—I am not sure which: partly, I think, my nerves had got wrong, and partly my humour was crossed.

I heard one of my examiners⁠—he of the braided surtout⁠—whisper to his co-professor, “ Est-elle donc idiote? ”

“Yes,” I thought, “an idiot she is, and always will be, for such as you.”