The French Teacher

All you could hear in the classroom was the scratching of pencils on paper and the occasional quiet cough. Everyone was focused on their French final exam at Fanny Hill High School.

Madame Chouchou walked attentively between the rows of desks, occasionally looking over the shoulders of her students. She loved being a teacher. She had been teaching French in high school for many years. Her students loved her, not only because of her friendly, empathetic manner, with which she intensively supported each student according to their individual needs. Her open demeanor in class was also legendary—one could almost say libertarian, very much in the spirit of the French Revolution.

She noticed one of her favorite students, let's call him Jeannot, who was absent-mindedly sucking on his pen and staring at the ceiling. Jeannot wasn't a bad student. He just had a slight tendency to daydream and needed a little encouragement now and then to focus on the tasks at hand.

Madame Chouchou walked over to his desk, rested her hands on it, and leaned forward slightly.

“Hey, Jeannot,” she whispered, “don't forget the time. You have to hand in your work in thirty minutes.”

She smiled encouragingly.