I entered the church. The bride was near the door with the groom, all the wedding party gathered around them. They drew me to a corner where there was a large stone vase full of water, like one in our garden at Chauny. I saw that everybody was looking at me.
The curé was near the vase, the bride and groom approached, my mother took me in her arms.
“Mamma, what are they going to do to me?” I asked, rather frightened.
“Be good, my Juliette, be very good, I beseech of you,” she replied in a very troubled voice, “they are going to baptise you.”
“No, no, not baptise me,” I cried in tears.
The bride said smiling to me: “You are going to cease being a vile heretic and enter the Catholic Church.”
I saw my grandfather and I cried out to him, thinking the vase full of water was the Catholic Church.
“Grandfather, come and prevent them from throwing me into the Catholic Church.”
My grandfather not only remained insensible to my appeal, but looked at me very severely.
“Be still,” said the curé to me, “or I will open your head and put the oil and salt in it.”