I uttered piercing cries; but my mother, without paying any attention to my screams, lifted me cleverly, planted two spanks behind, and passed me to the hands of Mme. Levicq—­that was the name of my governess.  The next day my mother left me and I repeated my disturbance, crying, stamping my feet, and calling to mother Catharine and Bastien. (To tell the truth, Jerome and Matthieu were two big lubbers [rougeots] very peevish and coarse-mannered, which I could not endure.) Madame put a book into my hands and wished to have me repeat after her; I threw the book at her head.  Then, rightly enough, in despair she placed me where I could see the cottage in the midst of the garden and told me that when the lesson was ended I might go and see my mother Catharine and play with my brothers.  I promptly consented, and that is how I learned to read.

This Mme. Levicq was most certainly a woman of good sense.  She had a kind heart and much ability.  She taught me nearly all I know—­first of all, French; the harp, the guitar, drawing, embroidery; in short, I say again, all that I know.

I was fourteen years old when my mother came, and this time not alone.  My cousin Abner was with her.  My mother had me called into her chamber, closely examined my shoulder, loosed my hair, looked at my teeth, made me read, sing, play the harp, and when all this was ended smiled and said: 

“You are beautiful, my daughter; you have profited by the training of your governess; the defect of your shoulder has not increased.  I am satisfied—­well satisfied; and I am going to tell you that I have brought the Viscomte Abner de Morainville because I have chosen him for your future husband.  Go, join him in the avenue.”

I was a little dismayed at first, but when I had seen my intended my dismay took flight—­he was such a handsome fellow, dressed with so much taste, and wore his sword with so much grace and spirit.  At the end of two days he loved me to distraction and I doted on him.  I brought him to my nurse’s cabin and told her all our plans of marriage and all my happiness, not observing the despair of poor Joseph, who had always worshiped me and who had not doubted he would have me to love.  But who would have thought it—­a laboring gardener lover of his lord’s daughter?  Ah, I would have laughed heartily then if I had known it!

On the evening before my departure—­I had to leave with my mother this time—­I went to say adieu to mother Catharine.  She asked me if I loved Abner.

“Oh, yes, mother!” I replied, “I love him with all my soul”; and she said she was happy to hear it.  Then I directed Joseph to go and request Monsieur the cure, in my name, to give him lessons in reading and writing, in order to be able to read the letters that I should write to my nurse-mother and to answer them.  This order was carried out to the letter, and six months later Joseph was the correspondent of the family and read to them my letters.  That was his whole happiness.