Finally the examination day arrived. Everyone had given me advice, but no one any really helpful counsel. It had not occurred to anyone that I ought to have had a professional to prepare me for my examination. I got up in the morning with a heavy heart and an anxious mind. My mother had had a black silk dress made for me. It was slightly low-necked, and was finished with a gathered bertha. The frock was rather short, and showed my drawers. These were trimmed with embroidery, and came down to my brown kid boots. A white guimpe emerged from my black bodice and was fastened round my throat, which was too slender. My hair was parted on my forehead, and then fell as it liked, for it was not held by pins or ribbons. I wore a large straw hat, although the season was rather advanced. Everyone came to inspect my dress, and I was turned round and round twenty times at least. I had to make my courtesy for everyone to see. Finally I seemed to give general satisfaction. My _petite dame_ came downstairs, with her grave husband, and kissed me. She was deeply affected. Our old Marguerite made me sit down, and put before me a cup of cold beef tea, which she had simmered so carefully for a long time that it was then a delicious jelly, and I swallowed it in a second. I was in a great hurry to start. On rising from my chair I moved so brusquely that my dress caught on an invisible splinter of wood, and was torn. My mother turned to a visitor who had arrived about five minutes before, and had remained in contemplative admiration ever since. “There,” she said to him in a vexed tone, “that is a proof of what I told you. All your silks tear with the slightest movement.” “Oh, no,” replied our visitor quickly, “I told you that this one was not well ‘dressed,’ and let you have it at a low price on that account.” The man who spoke was the most extraordinary individual imaginable. I do not mean as regards his appearance, as he was like a not too ugly young Jew. He was shy and a Dutchman; never violent, but tenacious. I had known him from my childhood. His father, who was a friend of my grandfather’s on my mother’s side, was a rich tradesman, and the father of a tribe of children. He gave each of his sons a small sum of money, and sent them all out to make their fortune where they liked. Jacques, the one of whom I am speaking, came to Paris. He had commenced by selling Passover cakes, and, as a boy, had often brought me some of them to the convent, together with the dainties that my mother sent me. Later on, my surprise was great on seeing him offer my mother rolls of oilcloth such as is used for tablecloths for early breakfast. I remember one of those cloths, the border of which was formed of medallions representing the French kings. It was from that oilcloth that I learned my history best. For the last month he had owned quite an elegant vehicle, and he sold “silks that were not well dressed.” At present he is one of the leading jewelers of Paris.