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Then， from one thing to another， M. Hamel went on to talk of the French language， saying that it was the most beautiful language in the world—the clearest， the most logical； that we must guard it among us and never forget it， because when a people are enslaved， as long as they hold fast to their language it is as if they had the key to their prison. Then he opened a grammar and read us our lesson. I was amazed to see how well I understood it. All he said seemed so easy， so easy！ I think， too， that I had never listened so carefully， and that he had never explained everything with so much patience. It seemed almost as if the poor man wanted to give us all he knew before going away， and to put it all into our heads at one stroke.
After the grammar， we had a lesson in writing. That day M. Hamel had new copies for us， written in a beautiful round hand： France， Alsace， France， Alsace. They looked like little flags floating everywhere in the school—room， hung from the rod at the top of our desks. You ought to have seen how every one set to work， and how quiet it was！ The only sound was the scratching of the pens over the paper. Once some beetles flew in； but nobody paid any attention to them， not even the littlest ones， who worked right on tracing their fish—hooks， as if that was French， too. On the roof the pigeons cooed very low， and I thought to myself：
“Will they make them sing in German， even the pigeons？”
Whenever I looked up from my writing I saw M. Hamel sitting motionless in his chair and gazing first at one thing， then at another， as if he wanted to fix in his mind just how everything looked in that little school—room. Fancy！ For forty years he had been there in the same place， with his garden outside the window and his class in front of him， just like that. Only the desks and benches had been worn smooth； the walnut—trees in the garden were taller， and the hop—vine， that he had planted himself twined about the windows to the roof. How it must have broken his heart to leave it all， poor man； to hear his sister moving about in the room above， packing their trunks！ For they must leave the country next day.
But he had the courage to hear every lesson to the very last. After the writing， we had a lesson in history， and then the babies chanted their ba， be， bi， bo， bu. Down there at the back of the room old Hauser had put on his spectacles and， holding his primer in both hands， spelled the letters with them. You could see that he， too， was crying； his voice trembled with emotion， and it was so funny to hear him that we all wanted to laugh and cry. Ah， how well I remember it， that last lesson！
All at once the church—clock struck twelve. Then the Angelus. At the same moment the trumpets of the Prussians， returning from drill， sounded under our windows. M. Hamel stood up， very pale， in his chair. I never saw him look so tall.
“My friends，” said he， “I—I—” But something choked him. He could not go on.
Then he turned to the blackboard， took a piece of chalk， and， bearing on with all his might， he wrote as large as he could：
“Vive La France！”
Then he stopped and leaned his head against the wall， and， without a word， he made a gesture to us with his hand； “School is dismissed—you may go.”
Life is too short for a long story.
时间太少，小说太长，不如读一篇短故事。
“罪证确凿” 的杀人凶犯，熬过二十年漫漫冤狱；隐藏身份的女钢琴家，引得贵族小伙儿患得患失；四个日子宛若春夏秋冬，即带来希望，也难免悲剧；一片面包看似微不足道，即挽救生命，也荡涤灵魂。
人生起伏跌宕，世事变幻无常，莫泊桑、左拉、托尔斯泰、史蒂文森……文学大家带来8个精彩短篇，加上全新的译文诠释，邀读者一起体悟人生百味，领略两种语言的魅力。
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