effect
of custom being destroyed, I would begin to think and to feel very
melancholy things. The door-handle of my room, which was different to
me from all the other doorhandles in the world, inasmuch as it seemed to
open of its own accord and without my having to turn it, so unconscious
had its manipulation become; lo and behold, it was now an astral body
for Golo. And as soon as the dinner-bell rang I would run down to the
dining-room, where the big hanging lamp, ignorant of Golo and Bluebeard
but well acquainted with my family and the dish of stewed beef, shed the
same light as on every other evening; and I would fall into the arms of
my mother, whom the misfortunes of Genevieve de Brabant had made all the
dearer to me, just as the crimes of Golo had driven me to a more than
ordinarily scrupulous examination of my own conscience.

But after dinner, alas, I was soon obliged to leave Mamma, who stayed
talking with the others, in the garden if it was fine, or in the little
parlour where everyone took shelter when it was wet. Everyone except my
grandmother, who held that "It is a pity to shut oneself indoors in the
country," and used to carry on endless discussions with my father on the
very wettest days, because he would send me up to my room with a book
instead of letting me stay out of doors. "That is not the way to make
him strong and active," she would say sadly, "especially this little
man, who needs all the strength and character that he can get." My
father would shrug his shoulders and study the barometer, for he took an
interest in meteorology, while my mother, keeping very quiet so as not
to disturb him, looked at him with tender respect, but not too hard,
not wishing to penetrate the mysteries of his superior mind. But my
grandmother, in all weathers, even when the rain was coming down in
torrents and Francoise had rushed indoors with the precious wicker
armchairs, so that they should not get soaked--you would see my
grandmother pacing the deserted garden, lashed by the storm, pushing
back her grey hair in disorder so that her brows might be more free to
imbibe the life-giving draughts of wind and rain. She would say, "At
last one can breathe!" and would run up and down the soaking paths--too
straight and symmetrical for her liking, owing to the want of any
feeling for nature in the new gardener, whom my father had been asking
all morning if the weather were going to improve--with her keen, jerky
little step