Scarcely had I returned from Brest to Combourg when a revolution took place in my existence; the child vanished and there appeared the man, with his joys which pass and his troubles which remain. At first all became passion with me, pending the arrival of the passions themselves. When, after a silent dinner, at which I had dared neither to eat nor speak, I succeeded in escaping, my delight was incredible. I could not descend the steps then and there: I should have flung myself headlong. I was obliged to sit upon one of the steps to allow my excitement to subside; but so soon as I had reached the Cour Verte and the woods, I began to run, to leap, to bound, to skip, to rejoice until I fell down exhausted, panting, drunk with frolic and liberty. My father took me with him shooting. I was seized with the taste for sport, and carried it to excess; I still see the field where I killed my first hare. Often, in autumn, I have stood for four or five hours to my waist in water, waiting at the edge of a pond for wild-duck; to this very day I lose my composure when I see a dog point. Nevertheless, my first ardor for sport was built upon a basis of independence; to leap ditches, to tramp over fields, marshes, moors, to find myself with a gun in an unfrequented spot, alone and powerful, all this was my natural manner of being. When out shooting, I would go so far that I had not the strength to walk back, and the keepers were obliged to carry me on twisted branches. However, the pleasures of the chase no longer satisfied me; I was fretted with a longing for happiness which I could neither control nor understand; my mind and my heart ended by forming as it were two empty temples, without altars or sacrifices; it was not yet known which god would be worshipped there. I grew up by the side of my sister Lucile: our friendship was all our life. * Lucile was tall and endowed with remarkable, but serious, beauty. Her pale features were shaded with long black tresses; she often fixed her eyes on heaven or cast looks around her full of sadness or fire. Her gait, her voice, her smile, her expression showed something pensive and suffering. [Sidenote: Lucile.]