nment to
their hospitality. I had a burning desire for the open air. When quite
young, my dream was to rove barefooted along the dusty roads, holding
out my hand for charity, living like a gipsy. I have been told that my
mother was a daughter of the chief of a tribe in Africa. I have often
thought of her, and I understood that I belonged to her by blood and
instinct. I should have liked to have never parted from her, and to have
crossed the sand slung at her back.

"Ah! what a childhood! I still feel disgust and rebellion, when I recall
the long days I passed in the room where Camille was at death's door.
I sat bent over the fire, stupidly watching the infusions simmer, and
feeling my limbs growing stiff. And I could not move. My aunt scolded me
if I made a noise. Later on, I tasted profound joy in the little house
beside the river; but I was already half feeble, I could barely walk,
and when I tried to run I fell down. Then they buried me alive in this
vile shop."

After a pause, she resumed:

"You will hardly credit how bad they have made me. They have turned
me into a liar and a hypocrite. They have stifled me with their
middle-class gentleness, and I can hardly understand how it is that
there is still blood in my veins. I have lowered my eyes, and given
myself a mournful, idiotic face like theirs. I have led their deathlike
life. When you saw me I looked like a blockhead, did I not? I was grave,
overwhelmed, brutalised. I no longer had any hope. I thought of flinging
myself into the Seine.

"But previous to this depression, what nights of anger I had. Down there
at Vernon, in my frigid room, I bit my pillow to stifle my cries. I beat
myself, taxed myself with cowardice. My blood was on the boil, and I
would have lacerated my body. On two occasions, I wanted to run away, to
go straight before me, towards the sun; but my courage failed. They had
turned me into a docile brute with their tame benevolence and sickly
tenderness. Then I lied, I always lied. I remained there quite gentle,
quite silent, dreaming of striking and biting."

After a silence, she continued:

"I do not know why I consented to marry Camille. I did not protest, from
a feeling of a sort of disdainful indifference. I pitied the child. When
I played with him, I felt my fingers sink into the flesh of his limbs
as into damp clay. I took him because my aunt offered him to me, and
because I never intended to place any restraint on my actions on his