My sister Régina, whom the Sisters would not have in the convent and so had sent home, began to dance a jig. She had learned this in the country when she had been put out to nurse, and upon every occasion she danced it, finishing always with this couplet:

My little dear, rejoice,

Everything is for you....

Nothing could be more comic than this chubby child with her serious air. Régina never laughed, and only a suspicion of a smile ever played over her thin lips and over her mouth, which was too small. Nothing could be more comic than to see her, looking grave and rough, dancing the jig. She was funnier than ever that day, as she was excited by the general joy. She was four years old, and nothing ever embarrassed her. She was both timid and bold. She detested society and people generally, but if made to go in the dining-room she embarrassed people by her crude remarks, which were most odd, by her rough answers and her kicks and blows. She was a terrible child, with silvery hair, dark complexion, blue eyes too large for her face, and thick lashes which made a shadow on her cheeks when she lowered the lids, and joined her eyebrows when her eyes were open. She would be four or five hours sometimes without uttering a word, without answering any question she was asked, and then she would jump up from her little chair, begin to sing as loud as she could, and dance the jig. On this day she was in a good temper, for she kissed me affectionately and opened her thin lips to smile. My sister Jeanne kissed me, and made me tell her about my examination. My godfather gave me a hundred francs, and M. Meydieu, who had just arrived to find out the result, promised to take me the next day to Barbédienne’s to choose a clock for my room, as that was one of my dreams.

CHAPTER VI
I DECLINE MATRIMONY AND WED ART

The great change began in me from that day. For rather a long time, indeed, my soul remained childlike, but my mind discerned life more distinctly. I felt the need of creating a personality for myself. That was the first awakening of my will. I wanted to be some one. Mlle. De Brabender declared to me that this was pride. It seemed to me that it was not quite that, but I could not then define what the sentiment was which imposed this wish on me. I did not understand until a few months later why I wished to be some one.

A friend of my godfather’s made me an offer of marriage. This man was a rich tanner, and very kind, but so dark and with such long hair and such a beard that he disgusted me. I refused him, and my godfather then asked to speak to me alone. He made me sit down in my mother’s boudoir, and said to me:

“My poor child, it is pure folly to refuse M. B——. He has sixty thousand francs a year and expectations.”

It was the first time I had heard this use of the word, and when the meaning was explained to me I wondered if that was the right thing to say on such an occasion.