My brothers and sisters and I were the people. In every kingdom there must be a people. It is true that in most houses now-a-days one wonders what has become of the people. The king and queen, dejected as two weeping willows, are wearily watching one another grow old. They have no one to govern and they will not lay aside their crown. At our house the people were numerous and noisy. If you can count, you already know that there were seven of us, from Mélanie who was seven years older than I, to James, who was six years younger. Before being led into action, the whole battalion used to undergo a preliminary inspection from Aunt Deen, who was in charge of the review of details. Aunt Deen was endowed with an activity which years could not abate, and of which all the servants except Mariette shamelessly took advantage. Always coming and going, from cellar to garret, always on the stairs--for she invariably forgot half the things she intended to do, or suddenly interrupted whatever she might be doing--beginning to sweep, leaving off to hunt dust under a piece of furniture, warring against spider’s webs with a wolf’s head--a sort of brush fastened to the end of a long pole,--or rushing to the aid of one of us who had cried out, she had rocked, washed, dressed, cuddled, watched over, amused, kept busy, cared for and caressed all seven of us, and even an eighth, who had died before I could remember. To this imposing number must also be added grandfather, whom she shielded from all care. He was not exacting. Provided he could have at hand whatever he might desire he asked no favours of any one. To be sure, the disorder of his room must always be respected; he watched over it jealously, insisting that no one could ever find things that had been put away. He took the indulgence of his whims as a matter of course, paying no attention except when he was irritated by an exaggerated degree of consideration. As for our education and training, our moral guidance, Aunt Deen, notwithstanding her advantage in the matter of age, placed herself at the service of our mother, for whom she entertained unlimited admiration and affection. Even in old age she would accept the functions of a subaltern only. When she had said “Valentine wishes this; Valentine says that” (Valentine was our mother), there was no room for discussion. She herself obeyed to the very letter, without even seeking to enter into the spirit. Not one of her thoughts was for herself; she distributed them all, without exception, among the others. She could see no good in scolding, and hung her head when any of us was reprimanded, as if in protest against the harshness of authority. She not only never carried tales about us, she found unimagined excuses for our worst faults, such wonderful excuses as sometimes to ward off punishment merely by the surprise which they awakened. “That child has taken some pears.” “The tree needed relief, it was too heavily loaded.”