The cap was new; its peak shone.
"Rise," said the master.
He stood up; his cap fell.

The whole class began to laugh.

He stooped to pick it up.

A neighbor knocked it down again with his elbow; he picked it up once more.
"Get rid of your helmet," said the master, who was a bit of a wag.
There was a burst of laughter from the boys, which so thoroughly put the poor lad out of countenance that he did not know whether to keep his cap in his hand, leave it on the ground, or put it on his head.

He sat down again and placed it on his knee.
"Rise," repeated the master, "and tell me your name." The new boy articulated in a stammering voice an unintelligible name.
"Again!" The same sputtering of syllables was heard, drowned by the tittering of the class.
"Louder!" cried the master; "louder!" The "new fellow" then took a supreme resolution, opened an inordinately large mouth, and shouted at the top of his voice as if calling someone in the word "Charbovari." A hubbub broke out, rose in crescendo with bursts of shrill voices (they yelled, barked, stamped, repeated "Charbovari! Charbovari"), then died away into single notes, growing quieter only with great difficulty, and now and again suddenly recommencing along the line of a form whence rose here and there, like a damp cracker going off, a stifled laugh.
However, amid a rain of impositions, order was gradually re-established in the class; and the master having succeeded in catching the name of "Charles Bovary," having had it dictated to him, spelt out, and re-read, at once ordered the poor devil to go and sit down on the punishment form at the foot of the master's desk.