"The wisdom and kindness of my mother," says Madame Roland, "quickly acquired over my gentle and tender character an ascendency which was used only for my good. It was so great that, in those slight, inevitable differences between reason which governs and childhood which resists, she had need to resort to no other punishment than to call me, coldly, _Mademoiselle_, and to regard me with a severe countenance. I feel, even now, the impression made on me by her look, which at other times was so tender and caressing. I hear, almost with shivering, the word _mademoiselle_ substituted for the sweet name of _daughter_, or the tender appellation of _Manon_. Yes, Manon; it was thus they called me: I am sorry for the lovers of romances, the name is not noble; it suits not a dignified heroine; but, nevertheless, it was mine, and it is a history that I am writing. But the most fastidious would have been reconciled to the name, had they heard my mother pronounce it, or had they seen her who bore it. No expression wanted grace, when accompanied by the affectionate tone of my mother; when her touching voice penetrated my soul, did it teach me to resemble her? Lively without being ever rompish, and naturally retiring, I asked only to be occupied, and seized with quickness the ideas which were presented to me. This disposition was so well taken advantage of, that I do not remember learning to read: I have heard that I did so before I was four years old, and that, after that time, nothing more was required than to supply me with books." Her passion for these was subjected to little guidance or control; she read whatever chance threw in her way; they were, for the most part, of a serious character--Locke, Pascal, Burlamaque, Montesquieu; relieved, however, by works on history, the poems of Voltaire, Don Quixote, and some of the popular romances; but, as these were few in number, she was compelled to read them often, and thus acquired a habit of thought. When she was nine years old, Plutarch's Lives fell in her way, and more delighted her than any romance or fairy tale. The book became her bosom companion; and from that moment, she says, "she dated the ideas and impressions which made her a republican without her knowing that she was becoming one."