"I erase your name from the membership of my society; you no longer belong to my society, lost creature, prostitute!" vociferated Monsieur, stuffing his bag with thrusts of his fists. Finally Madame withheld my week's wages, refused to pay the ninety francs that I had lent M. Xavier, and obliged me to return all the rags that she had given me. "You are all thieves," I cried; "you are all pimps!" And I went away, threatening them with the commissary of police and the justice of the peace. "Oh! you are looking for trouble? Yes, well, you shall have it, scoundrels that you are!" Alas! the commissary of police pretended that the affair did not concern him. The justice of the peace advised me to let it drop. He explained: "In the first place, Mademoiselle, you will not be believed. And that is as it should be. What would become of society if a servant could be right against a master? There would be no more society, Mademoiselle. That would be anarchy." I consulted a lawyer; he demanded two hundred francs. I wrote to M. Xavier; he did not answer me. Then I counted up my resources. I had three francs fifty left--and the street pavement. XIII _November 13._ And I see myself again at Neuilly, with the sisters of Our Lady of Thirty-Six Sorrows, a sort of house of refuge, and also an employment-bureau for housemaids. My! but it is a fine establishment, with a white front, and at the rear of a large garden. In the garden, which is ornamented, at intervals of fifty steps, with statues of the Virgin, there is a little chapel, very new and sumptuous, built from the proceeds of the collections. Large trees surround it. And every hour one hears the tolling of the bells. It is so nice to hear the bells toll. It stirs in one's heart memories of things so old and long forgotten. When the bells toll, I close my eyes and listen, and I see again landscapes which perhaps I never saw before, and which I recognize all the same,--very peaceful landscapes, imbued with all the transformed recollections of childhood and youth,... and bagpipes,... and, on the moor bordering on the beaches, the slowly-moving panorama of holiday crowds. Ding ... dinn ... dong! It is not very gay; it is not the same thing as gaiety; it is even sad at bottom,--sad, like love. But I like it. In Paris one never hears anything but the fountaineer's horn, and the deafening trumpet of the tramway.