M.Paul was not at all a good little man, though he had good points.
Did I read my letter there and then?
Did I consume the venison at once and with haste, as if Esau's shaft flew every day?
I knew better.

The cover with its address--the seal, with its three clear letters--was bounty and abundance for the present.

I stole from the room, I procured the key of the great dormitory, which was kept locked by day.

I went to my bureau; with a sort of haste and trembling lest Madame should creep up-stairs and spy me, I opened a drawer, unlocked a box, and took out a case, and--having feasted my eyes with one more look, and approached the seal with a mixture of awe and shame and delight, to my lips--I folded the untasted treasure, yet all fair and inviolate, in silver paper, committed it to the case, shut up box and drawer, reclosed, relocked the dormitory, and returned to class, feeling as if fairy tales were true, and fairy gifts no dream.

Strange, sweet insanity! And this letter, the source of my joy, I had not yet read: did not yet know the number of its lines.
When I re-entered the schoolroom, behold M.Paul raging like a pestilence! Some pupil had not spoken audibly or distinctly enough to suit his ear and taste, and now she and others were weeping, and he was raving from his estrade, almost livid.