t it
was not long before my companions wished to know my name; and I had none
other than Marguerite to give them. They were astonished and wished to
know who my parents were. I could not tell an untruth; and I was obliged
to confess that I knew nothing at all respecting my father or my mother.
After that 'the bastard'--for such was the name they gave me--was soon
condemned to isolation. No one would associate with me during play-time.
No one would sit beside me in the school-room. At the piano lesson, the
girl who played after me pretended to wipe the keyboard carefully
before commencing her exercises. I struggled bravely against this
unjust ostracism; but all in vain. I was so unlike these other girls in
character and disposition, and I had, moreover, been guilty of a great
imprudence. I had been silly enough to show my companions the costly
jewels which M. de Chalusse had given me, but which I never wore. And on
two occasions I had proved to them that I had more money at my disposal
than all the other pupils together. If I had been poor, they would,
perhaps, have treated me with affected sympathy; but as I was rich,
I became an enemy. It was war; and one of those merciless wars which
sometimes rage so furiously in convents, despite their seeming quiet.

"I should surprise you, monsieur, if I told you what refined torture
these daughters of noblemen invented to gratify their petty spite. I
might have complained to the superior, but I scorned to do so. I buried
my sorrow deep in my heart, as I had done years before; and I firmly
resolved never to show ought but a smiling, placid face, so as to prove
to my enemies that they were powerless to disturb my peace of mind.
Study became my refuge and consolation; and I plunged into work with the
energy of despair. I should probably still live at Sainte-Marthe now,
had it not been for a trivial circumstance. One day I had a quarrel
with my most determined enemy, a girl named Anais de Rochecote. I was a
thousand times right; and I would not yield. The superior dared not
tell me I was wrong. Anais was furious, and wrote I don't know what
falsehoods to her mother. Madame de Rochecote thereupon interested the
mothers of five or six other pupils in her daughter's quarrel, and one
evening these ladies came in a body, and nobly and courageously demanded
that the 'bastard' should be expelled. It was impossible, outrageous,
monstrous, they declared, that their daughters should be compelle