In a day or two he was quite himself, plodding at the lessons, suddenly furious at the servants, and giving me fretful histories of his wrongs when brandy and water were not put by his bedside at night, or a warming-pan was not passed between his sheets.

About this time I began to know without being taught and without expressing it in words, that there is a natural law of environment which makes us grow like the company we keep.  During the first six months of my stay in De Chaumont’s house Doctor Chantry was my sole companion.  I looked anxiously into the glass on my dressing-table, dreading to see a reflection of his pettiness.  I saw a face with large features, eager in expression.  The eyes were hazel, and bluish around the iris rims, the nose aquiline, the chin full, the head high, and round templed.  The hair was sunny and wavy, not dark and tight fitting like that of my Indian father and mother.  There would be always a scar across my eyebrow.  I noticed that the lobe of my ear was not deeply divided from my head, but fashioned close to it in triangular snugness, though I could not have said so.  Regular life and abundant food, and the drive of purpose, were developing all my parts.  I took childish pleasure in watching my Indian boyhood go, and vital force mounting every hour.

Time passed without marking until January.  The New England Thanksgiving we had not then heard of; and Christmas was a holy day of the church.  On a January afternoon Madame de Ferrier sent Ernestine to say that she wished to see Doctor Chantry and me.

My master was asleep by the fire in an armchair.  I looked at his disabled feet, and told Ernestine I would go with her alone.  She led me to a wing of the house.

Even an Indian boy could see through Annabel de Chaumont.  But who might fathom Madame de Ferrier?  Every time I saw her, and that was seldom, some change made her another Madame de Ferrier, as if she were a thousand women in one.  I saw her first a white clad spirit, who stood by my head when I awoke; next, a lady who rose up and bowed to me; then a beauty among dancers; afterwards, a little girl running across the turf, or a kind woman speaking to my master.  Often she was a distant figure, coming and going with Paul and Ernestine in De Chaumont’s woods.  If we encountered, she always said, “Good day, monsieur,” and I answered “Good day, madame.”

I had my meals alone with Doctor Chantry, and never questioned this custom, from the day I entered the house.  De Chaumont’s chief, who was over the other servants, and had come with him from his chateau near Blois, waited upon me, while Doctor Chantry was served by another man named Jean.  My master fretted at Jean.  The older servant paid no attention to that.

Madame de Ferrier and I had lived six months under the same roof as strangers.  Consciousness plowed such a direct furrow in front of me that I saw little on either side of it.  She was a name, that I found written in the front of the missal, and copied over and over down foolscap paper in my practice of script: