CHAPTER I.THE ACCIDENT.
All I have to record of the first twenty-three years of my life is the enumeration of them.

A simple bead-roll is enough; it represents their family likeness and family monotony.
I lost my parents when I was very young.

I can hardly recall their faces; and I should keep no memories of La Chatre, our home, had I not been brought up quite close to it.

It was sold, however, and lost to me, like all the rest.

Yes, fate is hard, sometimes.