when she passed the old bench
and saw me sitting there with Sister Marie-Aimee and M. le Cure. So I
waited impatiently to hear what she would say to Mademoiselle
Maximilienne. M. le Cure had been away for a week, and Sister
Marie-Aimee used to talk to me every day about my new work. She told
me how glad she would be to see me on Sundays. She gave me all kinds
of good advice, told me to be good and to take care of my health.

The Mother Superior sent for me one morning. When I went into her room
I noticed that she was sitting in a big red armchair. I began to
remember some ghost stories which I had heard the girls tell about her,
and when I saw her sitting there, all black in the middle of all that
red, I compared her in my mind to a huge poppy which had grown in a
cellar. She opened and closed her eyelids several times. She had a
smile on her face which was like an insult. I felt myself blushing,
but I did not turn my eyes away. She gave a little sneering chuckle,
and said, "You know why I sent for you?" I answered that I thought it
was to talk to me about Mademoiselle Maximilienne. She sneered again,
"Oh, yes; Mademoiselle Maximilienne," she said. "Well, my child, you
must undeceive yourself. We have made up our minds to place you on a
farm in Sologne." She half closed her eyes and snapped out, "You are
to be a shepherdess, young woman." Then she added, rapping the words
out, "You will look after the sheep." I said simply, "Very well,
mother." She pulled herself up out of the depths of her armchair and
asked me, "Do you know what looking after the sheep means?" I answered
that I had seen shepherdesses in the fields. She bent her yellow face
towards me and went on, "You will have to clean the stables. They
smell very unpleasantly, and the shepherdesses are dirty. You will
help in the work of the farm, and be taught to milk the cows and look
after the pigs." She spoke very loud, as though she were afraid I
should not understand her. I answered as I had answered before, "Very
well, mother." She pulled herself up by the arms of her chair,
fastened her shining eyes on me, and said, "You don't mean to tell me
that you are not proud?" I smiled, and said, "No, mother." She seemed
very much surprised, but, as I went on smiling, her voice grew softer.
"Really, my child?" she said. "I always thought you were proud." She
dropped back into her chair again, hid her eyes under their lids, and
began