My father had never allowed me much acquaintance with other children; for six years he had left me with a community of lay sisters, in a little town of Languedoc, where I was the only pupil, and where I was to remain as I was born, a simple heretic.
Those sisters were very good to me, and taught me as much as I could take of secular accomplishment.

And it was a bitter day for me when I left them for America.
For during those six years I had seen my father at long intervals, and had almost forgotten the earlier days when I was always with him.

I used to be the one little comfort of his perpetual wanderings, when I was a careless child, and said things to amuse him.

Not that he ever played with me any more than he played with any thing; but I was the last of his seven children, and he liked to watch me grow.

I never knew it, I never guessed it, until he gave his life for mine; but, poor little common thing as I was, I became his only tie to earth.