Later, when we had our baby with us, we passed our vacations in some one locality, without traveling about. We lived then as simply as possible in retired villages where we could scarcely be distinguished from the villagers themselves. I remember the stupefaction of an American journalist when he found us one day at Pouldu, at a moment when I was sitting on one of the stone steps of our house in the act of shaking the sand from my sandals. However, his embarrassment was short-lived and, adapting himself to the situation, he sat down beside me and began jotting down in his notebook my answers to his questions. The most affectionate relations existed between my husband's parents and myself. We often went to Sceaux, where the room my husband used to have before our marriage was always reserved for us. I had also a very tender affection for Jacques Curie and his family (he was married and had two children); for Pierre's brother became mine, and has always remained so. Our eldest daughter, Irene, was born in September, 1897, and only a few days afterwards my husband suffered a great loss in the death of his mother. Doctor Curie came to live with us in a house which had a garden and was situated on the old fortifications of Paris (108 Boulevard Kellermann) near the park of Montsouris. Pierre Curie lived in this house until the end of his life. With the birth of our child, the difficulties of carrying on our work were augmented: for I had to give more time to the household. Very fortunately for us I could leave my little girl with her grandfather, who much enjoyed taking care of her. But we had to think also of increasing our resources to meet the needs of our larger family and to enable us to secure someone to help me in the house, a necessity from now on. However, our situation remained as it was during the following two years, which we consecrated to intensive laboratory research on radioactivity. It was, indeed, not relieved until 1900, to the detriment, it is true, of the amount of time we could give to our investigations. All formal social obligations were excluded from our life. Pierre Curie had for such things an unconquerable repugnance. Neither in his earlier nor his later life would he pay visits or undertake to involve himself in relations without special interest. By nature grave and silent, he preferred to abandon himself to his own reflections, rather than to engage in an exchange of banal words. On the other hand, he valued greatly his boyhood friends, and those to whom he was bound by a common interest in science.