CHAPTER XLIV.



The only task required of me during my vacation was that I should read
from Fenelon's Telemaque (my education, you see, was a little out
of date). My copy of the work was composed of several small volumes.
Strangely enough, it was not irksome to me. I could image to myself
distinctly the land of Greece with its white marble temples and its
bright sky, and I had a conception of pagan antiquity that was almost as
vivid (if not so correct) as Fenelon's: Calypso and her nymphs enchanted
me.

Every day, in order to read, I hid myself from the Peyrals, either in
my uncle's garden or in the garret of his house, my two favorite
hiding-places.

This garret, under the high Louis XIII roof, extended the full length of
the house. The shutters of the place were seldom opened, and there
was here, in consequence, almost perpetual twilight. The old things,
belonging to a bygone century, lying there under the dust and cobwebs
attracted me from the first day; and, little by little, the habit of
slipping up there with my Telemaque had grown upon me. I usually stole
up after the noon dinner, secure in the thought that no one would dream
of looking for me there. At this noon hour of hot and radiant sunshine,
the garret, by contrast, was almost as dark as night. Noiselessly I
would throw open a shutter of one of the dormer windows and a flood