"The window of my room looked over the river. I used to watch the wild duck, just like so many little mechanical toys, floating solemnly down the brown waters--especially when my governess, Mlle. Jauffre, droned out the rules about participles: when the complement precedes, it agrees; when it follows.... I would get up quietly, take my long fowling-piece and some 'Number four' and let fly, bang! bang! among the ducks. The servants went out in boats to bring them in. Papa never minded as long as I had killed at least half a dozen. Having told you this, you mustn't be surprised if I make slips in my grammar. "For the piano I had an Italian professor. He was a republican. He was always trying to explain to us, with a meaning smile, that he was a natural son of Garibaldi. I can only remember his Christian name, Teobaldo. One day, when I was fifteen, he was behind me turning over the pages of some music I was reading, and kissed the back of my neck. I must confess I had encouraged him a little, just to see what he'd do. I burst out laughing. He took that for a responsive thrill and kissed me again. I laughed as if I should never stop. Suddenly Papa came in. I thought I was in for trouble, but the room was dark. He picked up his ramrod, which he had left on the table, and went out. For small game Papa always made his own cartridges, to get a proper spread. "Next day I was walking with Mlle. Jauffre in a very thick fir copse at the western horn of the island. We almost ran into a long, flabby form, hanging from a cedar. It was poor Teobaldo. Mlle. Jauffre screamed and fled. I turned him round by the feet to have a good look. Then I fled also, as fast as I could. His black, swollen tongue was hanging out over his tie. His eyes were dead white and fat flies were already as busy on him as on a rotten apple. Perhaps the most horrible thing was that he had the same expression as when he was kissing me. Since then I have always loathed men. "It was about this time that I became melancholy through reading the 'Demon' of Lermontoff, who is a much greater poet than your Vigny, or even Byron. I was very pale and there were scarlet flushes on my cheeks. A doctor came from Astrakhan. Between ourselves I managed to bribe him, and he ordered me to take the waters of Piatigorsk. That was exactly what I wanted, for you no doubt remember that it was at Piatigorsk that Lermontoff was killed in a duel. "The 'waters' of Piatigorsk are a series of waterfalls where the stream leaps over walls of black granite and glittering mica. That sounds very impressive, but at the end of a week I was so thoroughly bored that my cure was complete.