When I became intimate with my fellow pupils, I learned that they were quite as well acquainted with natural phenomena as my old friends at Brighton, indeed more than one of the French girls made no scruple of boasting of her exploits. One in particular spoke openly of her acquaintance with a certain playfellow of the other sex, who had obtained from her such favors as only lovers are permitted. The concierge was allowed to eke out his small revenue by the harmless privilege of retailing sweets, chocolate, etc., to the pensionnaires. The girls, during the hours of recreation, would return from his little den in the lodge with red cheeks, and their mouths full of sugar-plums.
I never had the child's weakness for bonbons. I was not fond of them. The concierge and myself remained strangers for a considerable time after my arrival. I often noticed that the man took extra trouble to salute me in passing. He offered such civilities as were decorous and polite. The girls spoke sometimes of little commissions which they had given him to perform for them. I soon found he was considered a sort of safe intermediary between the world at large and the elder girls.
When I crossed from Dover to Calais, en route for Paris in charge of a governess who collected the English pupils, I chanced to sit next to two gentlemen who conversed together of Voltaire and his works. I possessed a girl's natural curiosity-I listened. One exclaimed how he recognized the biting sarcasm of his style. He quoted the account given of the great king's private vices. The other cited Addison to show how little concern the great Frenchman had for virtue in itself. It was a pretty dispute. They raised their voices. I made notes, and determined to read Voltaire and judge for myself. I did not want bonbons-I wanted Voltaire.