Jean, as a little new boy (he was now eleven), was some weeksbefore he shook off the shyness with which his schoolfellows'
loud voices and rough ways and his masters' ponderous gravityhad at first overwhelmed him. Little by little he grew used tothe work, and learned some of the tricks by means of whichpunishments were avoided; his schoolfellows found him so inoffensivethey left off stealing his cap and initiated him in the game ofmarbles. But he had little love for school-life, and when fiveo'clock came, prayers were over and his satchel strapped, itwas with unfeigned delight he dashed out into the street baskingin the golden rays of the setting sun. In the intoxication offreedom, he danced and leapt, seeing everything, men and horses,carriages and shops, in a charmed light, and out of sheer joy oflife mumbling at his Aunt Servien's hand and arm, as she walkedhome with him carrying the satchel and lunch-basket.
The evening was a peaceful time. Jean would sit drawing picturesor dreaming over his copy-books at one end of the table whereMademoiselle Servien had just cleared away the meal. His fatherwould be busy with a book. As age advanced he had acquired ataste for reading, his favourites being La Fontaine's _Fables_,Anquetil's _History of France_, and Voltaire's _DictionnairePhilosophique_, "to get the hang of things," as he put it.
His sister made fruitless efforts to distract his attention withsome stinging criticism of the neighbours or a question about"our fat friend who had not come back," for she made a pointof never remembering the Marquis Tudesco's name.