Shortly after noon, the school door is open and the children rush out, tripping over each other in their haste to get out. But instead of disappearing immediately and going home for dinner, as was their daily custom, they stop a few steps away and gather in groups, whispering among themselves.

The truth is that on that day, Laplanchoti's son Simon attended school for the first time.

They were all in their families about Laplanchoti, and although she was ostensibly welcomed, the mothers treated her with a kindness mixed with shame, which the children acquired without knowing why.

As for Simon, they did not know him, for he never went out, never played with them in the streets of the town or on the banks of the river. So they had little love for him, and it was with a little happiness mixed with surprise that they gathered this morning in groups, repeating among themselves this phrase, prepared by a boy of four or fifteen who seemed to know all about the subject, and who winked wisely:

"You know Simon, he's fatherless!"

Laplanchoti's son also appeared on the threshold of the school. He was seven or eight years old, pale and very tidy, naively and perhaps stupidly so.

He was making his way to his mother's house when various groups of his schoolmates, whispering and watching him with merciless, evil eyes, bent over to play a sordid game and gradually wrapped themselves around him and encircled him. There he stood in their midst, surprised, not understanding what they were going to do to him. But the boy who brought the news, rejoicing in the victory he had won, said a command:

"What do you call yourself?"

"Simon," he replied

"Simon what?" The other asked slyly.

"Simon," the child repeated in confusion

The boy yelled at him, "You must be called Simon something! That's not a name. Really Simon!"

On the verge of tears, he answered for the third time, "My name is Simon."

The bullies started laughing, and the boy raised his voice triumphantly:

"You see that he has no father."

 But instead a profound silence followed, silencing the children from this strange, impossible, monstrous thing, born without a father. They looked at it as a strange phenomenon, an unnatural being, and felt the inexplicable pity of their mothers for Laplanchoti. Simon propped himself up against a tree to avoid falling. He stood there as if paralyzed by an irreparable disaster. He wanted to explain, but he could not think of any answer for them. There was no way to deny this dreadful charge that he was fatherless, and finally he cried out to them with the utmost indifference, "Yes, I have one."

Bite them in their hurry to get out quickly, they've heard.