For days on end I listened unflinchingly to the aggressive eulogies she showered on Joly. On her desk, Das Kapital lay open next to her chemistry book and her eyes wandered sadly from one volume to the other. She soon began examining all my acts and words in the light of historical materialism. There were quite a few beggars in the streets at the beginning of this cold springtime, and if I gave them a few sous she would say sneeringly, 'If you imagine that by giving that poor outcast a handout you'll change the face of the world ...'

'Oh, I'm not aiming so high. If it makes him happy, it's enough.'

'And you ease your conscience. Everybody wins.' She always attributed shabby motives to me. 'You think that by refusing to go out in the world and by being rude to people you're escaping your class. But you're just a shabbily dressed bourgeoise, that's all.'