Sophie and I had some fine games in that magnificent park. Our greatest joy, though, was to go to Mme. Masson’s in the Rue de la Gare. Mme. Masson had a curiosity shop. Her daughter Cécile was a perfect little beauty. We three used to delight in changing the tickets on the vases, snuffboxes, fans, and jewels, and then, when poor M. Masson came back with a rich customer—for Masson, the antiquary, enjoyed a world-wide reputation—Sophie and I used to hide so that we should see his fury. Cécile, with an innocent air, would be helping her mother and glancing slyly at us from time to time.
The whirl of life separated me brusquely from all these people whom I loved, and an incident, trivial in itself, caused me to leave the convent earlier than my mother wished.
It was a fête day and we had two hours for recreation. We were marching in procession along the wall which skirts the railway on the left bank of the Seine and as we were burying my pet lizard we were chanting the “De Profundis.” About twenty of my little playfellows were following me, when suddenly a soldier’s cap fell at my feet.
“What’s that?” called out one of the girls.
“A soldier’s cap.”
“Did it come from over the wall?”
“Yes, yes.... Listen, there’s a quarrel going on!”
We were suddenly silent, listening with all our ears.
“Don’t be stupid! It’s idiotic!”
“It’s the Grandchamps Convent!”