As I said before, I was not unhappy at Madame Fressard’s, and it seemed quite natural to me that I should stay there until I was quite a grown- up girl. My uncle, Félix Faure, who has entered the Carthusian monastery, had stipulated that his wife, my mother’s sister, should often take me out. He had a very fine country place at Neuilly, with a stream running through the grounds, and I used to fish there for hours, together with my two cousins, a boy and girl. These two years of my life passed peacefully, without any other events than my terrible fits of temper, which upset the whole pension and always left me in the infirmary for two or three days. These outbursts of temper were like attacks of madness. One day Aunt Rosine arrived suddenly to take me away altogether. My father had written giving orders as to where I was to be placed, and these orders were imperative. My mother was travelling, so she had sent word to my aunt, who had hurried off at once, between two dances, to carry out the instructions she had received. The idea that I was to be ordered about, without any regard to my own wishes or inclinations, put me into an indescribable rage. I rolled about on the ground, uttering the most heartrending cries. I yelled out all kinds of reproaches, blaming mamma, my aunts, and Madame Fressard for not finding some way to keep me with her. The struggle lasted two hours, and while I was being dressed I escaped twice into the garden and attempted to climb the trees and to throw myself into the pond, in which there was more mud than water. Finally, when I was completely exhausted and subdued, I was taken off, sobbing, in my aunt’s carriage. I stayed three days at her house, as I was so feverish that my life was said to be in danger. My father used to come to my aunt Rosine’s, who was then living at 6 Rue de la Chaussée d’Antin. He was on friendly terms with Rossini, who lived at No. 4 in the same street. He often brought him in, and Rossini made me laugh with his clever stories and comic grimaces. My father was as “handsome as a god,” and I used to look at him with pride. I did not know him well, as I saw him so rarely, but I loved him for his seductive voice and his slow, gentle gestures. He commanded a certain respect, and I noticed that even my exuberant aunt calmed down in his presence. I had recovered, and Dr. Monod, who was attending me, said that I could now be moved without any fear of ill effects. We had been waiting for my mother, but she was ill at Haarlem. My aunt offered to accompany us if my father would take me to the convent, but he refused, and I can hear him now with his gentle voice saying: “No; her mother will take her to the convent. I have written to the Faures, and the child is to stay there a fortnight.” My aunt was about to protest, but my father replied: “It’s quieter there, my dear Rosine, and the child needs tranquillity more than anything else.”