Our neighbors, the D-----s, accompanied by Lucette, always came at eight
o'clock Sunday evenings, and another neighbor visited us also upon
this same evening. These latter brought with them their little daughter
Marguerite, who gradually insinuated herself into my affections.

That year Marguerite and I brought the Sunday winter evenings, over
which the thought of the tasks of the morrow brooded sadly, to a close
with an entirely new amusement. After the tea, when I felt that the
party was about to break up, I would hurry little Marguerite into the
dining-room, and there we rushed madly about the round table and tried
to catch or tag each other,--we played furiously. It goes without saying
that she was usually caught immediately and tagged very often, and I
scarcely ever; it therefore fell out that it was almost always her turn
to chase me, and she did it desperately. We struck the table with our
bodies, and yelled, and carried on our play with the greatest imaginable
uproar. We succeeded in turning up the rugs, in disarranging the
chairs, and in making havoc of everything. We soon tired of our play,
however,--the truth is I was too old to care greatly for such frolics.
I had scarcely any feeling save one of melancholy in spite of the wild
sport I indulged in, for over me hovered the chilling thought that in
the morning the usual round of dry and laborious lessons would begin.
My furious revel was simply a way of prolonging that day of truce, of
making it count to its very last moment; it was an attempt to divert
my thoughts by making plenty of noise. It was also my way of hurling a
defiance at those tasks that I had left undone. My negligence troubled
my conscience and disturbed my sleep, and caused me finally to look
over, hastily and feverishly, by the feeble light of a candle, or by the
cold gray light of early dawn, the neglected lessons, before the coming
of the despised hour in which I betook myself to school.