Karl Ivánovich used to put us on our knees with face to the corner, and the punishment consisted in the physical pain which arose from such an attitude; St. Jérôme threw out his chest, made a majestic gesture with his hand, and cried, in a tragic voice: "A genoux, mauvais sujet!" and compelled us to get down on our knees with our faces turned toward him, and ask his forgiveness. The punishment consisted in humiliation.
I was not punished and nobody even mentioned what had happened to me; but I could not forget what despair, shame, and terror I had experienced in those two days. Although St. Jérôme ever since then gave me up and hardly paid any attention to me, I could not get accustomed to looking upon him with equanimity. Every time our eyes met by accident, I felt that my glance expressed too much apparent hatred, and I hastened to assume an expression of indifference; but when I thought he understood my simulation, I blushed and turned my face away altogether.
In short, it was inexpressibly hard for me to have any relations with him.
