Madame Beck went, the first day of the holidays, to join her children at the sea-side; all the three teachers had parents or friends with whom they took refuge; every professor quitted the city; some went to Paris, some to Boue-Marine; M.Paul set forth on a pilgrimage to Rome; the house was left quite empty, but for me, a servant, and a poor deformed and imbecile pupil, a sort of cretin, whom her stepmother in a distant province would not allow to return home.
My heart almost died within me; miserable longings strained its chords.
How long were the September days! How silent, how lifeless! How vast and void seemed the desolate premises! How gloomy the forsaken garden--grey now with the dust of a town summer departed.

Looking forward at the commencement of those eight weeks, I hardly knew how I was to live to the end.

My spirits had long been gradually sinking; now that the prop of employment was withdrawn, they went down fast.

Even to look forward was not to hope: the dumb future spoke no comfort, offered no promise, gave no inducement to bear present evil in reliance on future good.

A sorrowful indifference to existence often pressed on me--a despairing resignation to reach betimes the end of all things earthly.