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It was now nearing the summer vacation, and profiting by the rupture with my companions, I refused to accompany the school to the mountains. These vacations were by way of being a great treat, but to me the prospect of endless climbs up the mountains in single file suggested forced labour rather than pleasure. This, then, was the occasion to pass a quiet summer alone in Geneva. I therefore sent my mother a vivid picture of the delights of these school trips. As was expected she wrote Mademoiselle Bertin that she wished me to remain in Geneva for summer. 

For several months I led comparatively peaceful and happy life. In the autumn, when the girls returned, I felt no enthusiasm for the reconciliation they now demanded. Besides, I had another interest ... Was I not again in love? And this time, was not the attraction intellectual rather than physical?