An elder sister of my mother's resided at Colmar, and I passed most of
my time with her during our stay. When my father's regiment was ordered
to Paris, this lady requested that I might remain with her; but my
mother refused, telling her sister that she could not, conscientiously
as a mother, allow any of her daughters to quit her care for any worldly
advantage. That this was mere hypocrisy, the reader will imagine;
indeed, it was fully proved so to be in two hours afterwards, by my
mother telling my father that if her sister had offered to take Clara,
my second sister, she would have consented. The fact was, that the old
lady had promised to dower me very handsomely (for she was rich), and my
mother could not bear any good fortune to come to me.

We passed through Luneville on our road to Paris, and I saw my dear
grandmother for the last time. She requested that I might be left with
her, making the same offer as she did before, of leaving me all her
property at her death, but my mother would not listen to any
solicitation. Now as our family was now fourteen in number, she surely
might, in either of the above instances, have well spared me, and it
would have been a relief to my father; but this is certain, she would
not spare me, although she never disguised her dislike, and would, if
she had dared, have treated me as she had formerly done. I was very
anxious to stay with my dear grandmother. She had altered very much
since my grandfather's death, and was evidently breaking up fast; but my
mother was inexorable. We continued our route, and arrived at Paris,
where we took up our quarters in the barracks close to the Boulevards.

My mother was as harsh as ever, and now recommenced her boxes of the
ear--which during the time we were at Colmar had but seldom been
applied. In all my troubles I never was without friends. I now made an
acquaintance with the wife of the colonel of the regiment who joined us
at Paris. She had no children. I imparted all my troubles to her, and
she used to console me. She was a very religious woman, and as I had
been brought up in the same way by my grandmother, she was pleased to
find piety in one so young, and became much attached to me. She had a
sister, a widow of large fortune, who lived in the Rue St Honore, a very
pleasant, lively woman, but very sarcastic when she pleased, and not
caring what she said if her feelings prompted her. I constantly met her
at the colonel's h