rents again. My brother,
three years younger than I, was as lovely as an angel. I was not
nearly so lively as he, and far from being so clever or so pretty. In
fact, at that time of my life I was very plain. I had an enormous
forehead, and eyes far too deep-set; my nose was the only good feature
of my pale, skinny face. Besides, I was growing so fast that I could
not hold myself up straight, and I bent like a willow. These defects
were the despair of my mother. I fancy she had a weakness for my
brother. At any rate, she spoiled him and forgave him his youthful
sins, whereas she was very severe toward myself. To make up for it, my
father overwhelmed me with kindness and indulgence. His tender love
endeared him more and more to my heart; and so my good father is ever
present to me, and I believe I have not forgotten a word he uttered
in my hearing. How often, during 1789, did I think of something in
sort prophetic which he said. He had come home from a philosophers'
dinner where he had met Diderot, Helvetius and d'Alembert. He was so
thoroughly dejected that my mother asked him what the matter was. "All
I have heard to-night, my dear," he replied, "makes me believe that
the world will soon be turned upside down."

I had spent one happy year at home when my father fell ill. After two
months of suffering all hope of his recovery was abandoned. When he
felt his last moments approaching, he declared a wish to see my
brother and myself. We went close to his bedside, weeping bitterly.
His face was terribly altered; his eyes and his features, usually so
full of animation, were quite without expression, for the pallor and
the chill of death were already upon him. We took his icy hand and
covered it with kisses and tears. He made a last effort and sat up to
give us his blessing. "Be happy, my children," was all he said. An
hour later our poor father had ceased to live.

So heartbroken was I that it was long before I felt able to take to my
crayons again. Doyen came to see us sometimes, and as he had been my
father's best friend his visits were a great consolation. He it was
who urged me to resume the occupation I loved, and in which, to speak
truth, I found the only solace for my woe. It was then that I began to
paint from nature. I accomplished several portraits--pastels and oils.
I also drew from nature and from casts, often working by lamplight
with Mlle. Boquet, with whom I was closely acquainted. I went to her
house in the