I was at this time so far removed from my old Brittany masters
in respect to disposition, intellectual culture and study that
conversation between us had become almost impossible. One of them
suspected something, and said to me: "I have always thought that you
were being overdone in the way of study." A habit which I had acquired
of reciting the psalms in Hebrew from a small manuscript of my own
which I used as a breviary, surprised them very much. They were half
inclined to ask me if I was a Jew. My mother guessed all that was
taking place without quite understanding it. I continued, as in my
childhood, to take long walks into the country with her. One day, we
sat down in the valley of Guindy, near the Chapelle des Cinq Plaies,
by the side of the spring. For hours I read by her side, without
raising my eyes from the book, which was a very harmless one--M. de
Bonald's _Recherches Philosophiques._ Nevertheless the book displeased
her, and she snatched it away from me, feeling that books of the same
description, if not this particular one, were what she had to dread.
Upon the 6th of September, 1845, I wrote to M. ----, my director, the
following letter, a copy of which I have found among my papers,
and which I reproduce without in any way attenuating its somewhat
inconsistent and feverish tone:--
"SIR,--Having had to make two or three journeys at the beginning of
the vacation, I have been unable to correspond with you as early as I
could have wished.
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