Alas! my father’s advice bore no fruit. Each day brought me some new nickname; I had soon as many names and titles as a Spanish grandee. I suffered all the bullying that timid little boys endure at the hands of their bigger schoolfellows. And, shame be it to me to say it, even babies of eight and nine years old were not afraid to run after me, and join in any tricks that were played me. These children would troop after me when we came out of school, shrieking and yelling, driving me before them, brandishing their wallets as if they were tomahawks, and I used to fly! I, who was taller by a head than any of them! yes, I flew before them like a great, stupid stag hunted by a parcel of little curs. People would come to their doors to watch us and would laugh at me for a coward, and call me all sorts of names. And once, I remember, Colonel Boissot happened to see us, and he stood watching the hunt with his hat all on one side and a smile of contempt upon his face.

There was a little fellow at the college called Lehardy, he was only nine, but I had taken a great fancy to him because I thought I saw a likeness between him and Marc: we were great friends. He never joined the other little boys in chasing me, or behaving rudely to me, and as he lived near where I did we often walked to the college together.

One day when we were walking side by side and talking together, a little wretch of seven came up to Lehardy, and, seizing him by the ear, pulled it cruelly merely for the pleasure of hearing the poor little boy scream. I saw his eyes, filled with great tears, raised to me as if imploring my protection. Pity and indignation fought a fierce battle with cowardice, I trembled from head to foot, and was on the point of throwing myself upon Lehardy’s aggressor. But, unfortunately, my heart failed me, and I ran away, stopping my ears not to............