After examining these precious papers, I classified them and arranged them in order.  I formed a resolution to write a journal myself.  I had one made just like that of my father’s, and, carefully searching out the minor details of his life, I tried to conform my life to his.  Thus, whenever I heard the clock strike the hour, tears came to my eyes:  “This,” said I, “is what my father did at this hour,” and whether it was reading, walking, or eating, I never failed to follow his example.  Thus I accustomed myself to a calm and regular life; there was an indefinable charm about this orderly conduct that did me good.  I went to bed with a sense of comfort and happiness such as I had not known for a long time.  My father spent much of his time about the garden; the rest of the day was devoted to walking and study, a nice adjustment of bodily and mental exercise.

At the same time I followed his example in doing little acts of benevolence among the unfortunate.  I began to search for those who were in need of my assistance, and there were many of them in the valley.  I soon became known among the poor; my message to them was:  “When the heart is good, sorrow is sacred!” For the first time in my life I was happy; God blessed my tears and sorrow taught me virtue.

CHAPTER III

BRIGITTE

One evening, as I was walking under a row of lindens at the entrance to the village, I saw a young woman come from a house some distance from the road.  She was dressed simply and veiled so that I could not see her face; but her form and her carriage seemed so charming that I followed her with my eyes for some time.  As she was crossing a field, a white goat, straying at liberty through the grass, ran to her side; she caressed it softly, and looked about as if searching for some favorite plants to feed to it.  I saw near me some wild mulberry; I plucked a branch and stepped up to her holding it in my hand.  The goat watched my approach with apprehension; he was afraid to take the branch from my hand.  His mistress made him a sign as if to encourage him, but he looked at her with an air of anxiety; she then took the branch from my hand, and the goat promptly accepted it from hers.  I bowed, and she passed on her way.

On my return home I asked Larive if he knew who lived in the house I described to him; it was a small house, modest in appearance, with a garden.  He recognized it; there were but two people in the house, an old woman who was very religious, and a young woman whose name was Madame Pierson.  It was she I had seen.  I asked him who she was, and if she ever came to see my father.  He replied that she was a widow, that she led a retired life, and that she had visited my father, but rarely.  When I had learned all he knew, I returned to the lindens and sat down on a bench.

I do not know what feeling of sadness came over me as I saw the goat approaching me.  I arose from my seat, and, for distraction, I followed the path I had seen Madame Pierson take, a path that led to the mountains.