Once Marie exits, the professor continues. He directs the student to pay attention as he delivers a lecture on “the linguistic and comparative philology of the neo-Spanish languages” (60). When the student claps and expresses excitement, the professor quiets her sternly, and she folds her hands in careful contrition. The student watches as the professor launches into a nonsensical oration about languages, pausing to give her permission to take notes. She interjects occasionally to respond affirmatively, with varying levels of enthusiasm, sometimes repeating his previous lines. He emphasizes the significance of what she is learning, which she must not forget “until the hour of [her] death” (62). When she offers a word from her prior education, he scolds, “Don’t parade your knowledge. You’d do better to listen” (62). He waxes poetic about the necessary physicality of speaking properly, chastising the student whenever she speaks.

Suddenly, the student seems to be ill. The professor questions her, and she explains that she has a toothache. The professor dismisses her pain as trivial and not worth disrupting his lecture. He goes on, and this time she occasionally interjects, “I’ve got a toothache” (63), which he ignores, continuing to pontificate absurdly on the anatomy involved in speech.