Once when he had escaped from [Madame Guerin] in the streets, he shed many tears on seeing her again. Some hours after, he still had a high and broken respiration and a feverish pulse. When Madame Guerin reproached him, he interpreted her tone so well that he began to weep again. The friendship he has for me is much less strong, and justifiably so ... Yet at times I too am welcome. They are the times I have never used for any kind of instruction. If, for example, I go to his room at nightfall when he has just gone to bed, his first movement is to sit up so that I can hug him, and then to draw me to him by taking my arms and making me sit on the bed. Then he usually takes my hand, places it over his eyes, on his forehead, on the back of his head, and holds it with his own in these places a long while. Other times he gets up with bursts of laughter and places himself opposite me where he can caress my knees in his special way.