One day, a short time after this, I was walking out as usual with my
little brother Pierre in my arms; I was deep in thought; in imagination
I was at Luneville with my dear grandmother, when my foot slipped and I
fell. In trying to save my brother I hurt myself very much, and he,
poor child, was unfortunately very much hurt as well as myself. He
cried and moaned piteously, and I did all that I could to console him,
but he was in too much pain to be comforted. I remained out for an hour
or two, not daring to go home, but the evening was closing in and I
returned at last. The child, who could not yet speak, still moaned and
cried, and I told the truth as to the cause of it. My mother flew at
me, and I received such chastisement that I could be patient no longer,
and I pushed my mother from me; I was felled to the ground and left
there bleeding profusely.
After a time I rose up and crawled to bed. I reflected upon all I had
suffered, and made up my mind that I would no longer remain under my
father's roof. At daybreak I dressed myself, hastened out of the
barracks, and set off for Luneville, which was fifteen miles distant. I
had gained about half the way when I was met by a soldier of the
regiment who had once been our servant. I tried to avoid him, but he
recognised me. I then begged him not to interfere with me, and told him
that I was running away to my grandmother's. Jacques, for that was his
name, replied that I was right, and that he would say nothing about it.
"But, mademoiselle," continued he, "you will be tired before you get to
Luneville, and may have a chance of a conveyance if you have money to
pay for it."
He then slipped a five-franc piece into my hand, and left me to pursue
my way. I continued my journey, and at last arrived at the farm
belonging to my grandfather, which I have before mentioned, as being
about four miles from the town. I was afraid to go direct to Luneville,
on account of my grandfather, who, I knew from motives of parsimony,
would be unwilling to receive me. I told my history to the farmer's
wife, showing her my face covered with bruises and scars, and entreated
her to go to my grandmother's and tell her where I was. She put me to
bed, and the next morning set off for Luneville, and acquainted my
grandmother with the circumstances. The old lady immediately ordered
her _char-a-banc_ and drove out for me. There was proof positive of my
mother's cruelty, and the good old woman shed tears over me when she had
pulled off the humble blue cotton dress which I wore and examined my
wounds and bruises. When we arrived at Luneville, we met with much
opposition from my grandfather, but my grandmother was resolute.
"Since you object to my receiving her in the house," said she, "at all
events you cannot prevent my doing my duty towards her, and doing as I
please with my own money. I shall, therefore, send her to school and
pay her expenses."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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