I broke out passionately complaining that I could not be expected to obey rules when I was unjustly treated: I could bear anything else, but I could not support injustice. 'Pas l'injustice,' I protested, 'j'obéirais a tout, je supporterais tout: mais, pas l'injustice, non, madame, non, je ne saurais supporter l'injustice.' 'Cependant, mon enfant, il faut savoir la supporter. Que faire? _Seriez-vous la seule personne au monde qui ne connaîtrait pas l'injustice?_' I shook my head obstinately: I made a show of resistance: but I was already under Madame Heger's influence. A tremendous change had taken place in me. I was no longer an Anarchist. It had already come to me as a conviction that there was nothing grand, but rather something mean, in refusing to bear anything that my other fellow-creatures had to bear, that better and nobler people than I had borne. 'It saddens me,' continued Madame Heger--'(_Cela m'attriste_) to see a young girl like you, who soon must enter life, and who takes the habit of saying, "I cannot support this, everything else you like, _but not this_": or "I will renounce everything else, _but not that_." It does not depend upon us, my child, what we must support, nor what we may, because _les convenances_ or the interests of others demand it, have to renounce. Amongst the many pupils I have known, there have been some passionate like yourself and exalted, who have said like you to-day, I cannot support injustice, who have seen injustice, where there was no intention to be unjust; who have refused counsel with anger and impatience, and who in their refusal to bow to necessary obligations have been themselves unjust. And they have been unhappy in their lives; most unhappy. _Dominated by some fixed idea, the slave of some desire that cannot be accomplished,_ they have seen enemies in those who would have been their friends. They have created for themselves a sad fate; and I know one of them who died of it (_j'en connais une qui en est morte_).' Something in Madame Heger's voice surprised me, for her even tones quavered and broke. I looked up suddenly, her face was ashen white and her lips blue. I was struck to the heart. I knew not why, but in some way I instinctively felt that, through my fault, she was in pain: I was full of remorse. The table was between us, or I should have thrown myself upon my knees before her. My emotion had the usual effect upon my French accent. 'Forgive me, oh forgive me,' I wanted to say, 'I am ashamed of myself.' I said, 'Pardong, O pardong, j'ai honte de moi.' As it happened, nothing could have been better timed than my relapse into English barbarism. In a moment Madame's unusual emotion was under control: the soft colour returned to her cheek and lips, she shook her head gently, and said in her ordinary voice-- 'You _must_ take care of your accent, my child. One says "pardon," not "pardong "; and one does not say "J'ai honte de moi," but one says "Je suis honteuse," or "J'ai honte."