“What was it?”

“You wish to know about it?  Well, then, listen.  You recall, of course, the castle in which I was brought up, for you used to spend five or six months there during vacation.  You remember that large gray building, in the middle of a great park, and the long avenues of oaks which opened to the four points of the compass.  You remember my father and mother, both of whom were ceremonious, solemn, and severe.

“I worshipped my mother; I was afraid of my father; but I respected both, accustomed always as I was to see every one bow before them.  They were Monsieur le Comte and Madame la Comtesse to all the country round, and our neighbors, the Tannemares, the Ravelets, the Brennevilles, showed them the utmost consideration.

“I was then thirteen years old.  I was happy, pleased with everything, as one is at that age, full of the joy of life.

“Well, toward the end of September, a few days before returning to college, as I was playing about in the shrubbery of the park, among the branches and leaves, as I was crossing a path, I saw my father and mother, who were walking along.

“I recall it as though it were yesterday.  It was a very windy day.  The whole line of trees swayed beneath the gusts of wind, groaning, and seeming to utter cries-those dull, deep cries that forests give out during a tempest.

“The falling leaves, turning yellow, flew away like birds, circling and falling, and then running along the path like swift animals.

“Evening came on.  It was dark in the thickets.  The motion of the wind and of the branches excited me, made me tear about as if I were crazy, and howl in imitation of the wolves.

“As soon as I perceived my parents, I crept furtively toward them, under the branches, in order to surprise them, as though I had been a veritable prowler.  But I stopped in fear a few paces from them.  My father, who was in a terrible passion, cried: 

“’Your mother is a fool; moreover, it is not a question of your mother.  It is you.  I tell you that I need this money, and I want you to sign this.’

“My mother replied in a firm voice: 

“’I will not sign it.  It is Jean’s fortune.  I shall guard it for him and I will not allow you to squander it with strange women, as you have your own heritage.’

“Then my father, trembling with rage, wheeled round and, seizing his wife by the throat, began to slap her with all his might full in the face with his disengaged hand.

“My mother’s hat fell off, her hair became loosened and fell over her shoulders; she tried to parry the blows, but she could not do so.  And my father, like a madman, kept on striking her.  My mother rolled over on the ground, covering her face with her hands.  Then he turned her over on her back in order to slap her still more, pulling away her hands, which were covering her face.