“You don’t love your grandchild any more!”
My grandmother for the first time in her life remained insensible to my sorrow. She pushed me away from her. She, who had spoiled me so greatly until then, thought the moment had come in which to be severe to excess.
“Be obedient,” she said to me, “or you shall remain here and not return home any more.”
I revolted and answered: “I will go to my parents at Blérancourt.”
Madame Dufey intervened.
“I will take her to breakfast with me and another new little pupil,” said the school-mistress; “don’t send for her until this evening.”
She carried me off in her arms, and my grandmother went away.
Nothing had ever seemed to me so frightful as this abandonment. I felt a poor, miserable, forsaken little thing. I leaned against the wall of a corridor under a bell which was ringing, and from which ear-rending noise I had not the strength to flee, although it fairly hurt my head. I was pushed by my new companions into a dark, gloomy class-room where they obliged me to sit alone on the end of a bench.
I had a fit of despair; I cried as loud as I could. I called for Arthémise and my grandfather.
An under-mistress approached me and ordered me to be quiet, and shook me severely. I did not stop crying. I defended myself, and struck her because she had used me so roughly.