You will suppose that my return was sad; on the contrary, I was happy. I felt saved. You will perhaps guess that it was from myself that I felt saved. It was an absurd feeling, all the more so because I experienced it several times afterward, which proves that it was never definitive. My school years had been little more than an interlude; I really did not think much more about them. I was not yet disabused of my pretended perfection. I was content to live according to the ideal of the passive, rather dreary morality that I heard preached around me; and I thought this type of existence might last forever. I set myself seriously to work; I managed to fill my days with such continuous music that the moments of silence seemed nothing more than pauses. Music does not facilitate thought; it facilitates only dreams, and the most vague dreams at that. I seemed to fear whatever could distract me from these dreams, or perhaps whatever might define them in detail. I had not reestablished any of my childhood friendships: whenever my family went on a visit, I begged them to leave me behind. That was a reaction against the communal life imposed by school; it was also a precaution, but I took it without admitting that fact to myself. A number of vagabond gypsies went through our region; some are good musicians, and, as you know, their race is often very handsome. In earlier times, when I was much younger, I used to speak with their children through the garden fence, and, not knowing what to say, I gave them flowers. I wonder if the flowers gave them much pleasure. But, since my return, I had become more reasonable, and I went out only in broad daylight.

I did not have any secret thoughts; I thought as little as possible. I remember, with some irony, how pleased I was with myself that I had given myself completely to my studies. I was like someone who has a fever and does not find his torpor disagreeable yet fears to move, since the slightest movement can make him shiver. That was what I called calm. I have learned since that one must fear this calm in which one slumbers when one is on the edge of events. We believe we are tranquil, possibly because something, unbeknownst to us, has already been decided within us.