It happened a short time before my departure for the south, before that
journey to the mountains with which my imagination was ever busy; it
occurred in the month of July following my twelfth birthday.

One Wednesday, having started earlier than usual, so that I might arrive
at Limoise before nightfall, I begged those accompanying me to go no
farther than just beyond the town; I entreated them, for this once, to
allow me to make the journey alone as if I were a grown boy.

As I was being ferried across the river I compelled myself to take from
my pocket the white silk handkerchief that I had promised to wear
about my neck to protect it from the cool breezes on the water; the old
weather-beaten sailors were looking at me and I felt unspeakably ashamed
as I tied the muffler around my neck.

And at Chaumes, in that shadeless spot, a place always baked by the sun,
I fulfilled the pledge that had been exacted from me at my departure. I
opened a large sunshade!--oh! how my cheeks reddened and how humiliated
I felt when I was ridiculed by a little shepherd-boy who, with head
bared to the sun's rays, guarded his sheep. And my agony increased when
I arrived at the village and I saw four boys, who had doubtless just
come from school, look at me with astonishment. My God! I felt as if I
would faint. It was true courage which enabled me to keep my promise at
that moment.

As they passed they stared hard as if to mock me for being afraid of the
sun. One muttered something that had little enough meaning, but which
I regarded as a mortal insult: "It is the Marquis of Carabas!" he said,
and then all began to laugh heartily. But notwithstanding, I continued
on my way with my parasol still open. I did not flinch nor answer them,