Mamma went away quite out of patience with me. I fell asleep, in order to forget, and was roused by Marguerite who helped me to dress, as otherwise I should have been late for luncheon. The guests that day were Aunt Rosine, Mlle. De Brabender, my governess, a charming creature whom I have always regretted, my godfather, and the Duc de Morny, a great friend of my godfather and of my mother. The luncheon was a mournful meal for me, as I was thinking all the time about the family council. Mlle. De Brabender, in her gentle way, and with her affectionate words, insisted on my eating. My sister burst out laughing when she looked at me. “Your eyes are as little as that,” she said, putting her small thumb on the tip of her forefinger, “and it serves you right, because you’ve been crying, and mamma doesn’t like anyone to cry—do you, mamma?” “What have you been crying about?” asked the Duc de Morny. I did not answer in spite of the friendly nudge Mlle. De Brabender gave me with her sharp elbow. The Duc de Morny always awed me a little. He was gentle and kind but he was a great quiz. I knew, too, that he occupied a high place at court, and that my family considered his friendship a great honor. “Because I told her that after luncheon there was to be a family council on her behalf,” said my mother, speaking slowly. “At times it seems to me that she is quite idiotic. She quite disheartens me.” “Come, come!” exclaimed my godfather, and Aunt Rosine said something in English to the Duc de Morny which made him smile shrewdly under his fine mustache. Mlle. De Brabender scolded me in a low voice, and her scoldings were like words from heaven. When at last luncheon was over, mamma told me, as she passed, to pour the coffee. Marguerite helped me to arrange the cups and I went into the drawing-room. Maître G——, the notary from Hâvre, whom I detested, was already there. He represented the family of my father, who had died at Pisa in a way which had never been explained, but which seemed mysterious. My childish hatred was instinctive and I learned later on that this man had been my father’s bitter enemy. He was very, very ugly, this notary; his whole face seemed to have moved up higher. It was as though he had been hanging by his hair for a long time, and his eyes, his mouth, his cheeks, and his nose had got into the habit of trying to reach the back of his head. He ought to have had a joyful expression, as so many of his features turned up, but instead of this his face was smooth and sinister-looking. He had red hair planted on his head like couch grass and on his nose he wore a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. Oh, the horrible man! What a torturing nightmare the very memory of him is, for he was the evil genius of my father, and his hatred now pursued me. My poor grandmother, since the death of my father, never went out, but spent her time mourning the loss of her beloved son who had died so young. She had absolute faith in this