ster
Marie-Aimee so, but just then I liked the idea of being a shepherdess
much better than the idea of being in a shop. Ismerie, who was snoring
loud, next to me, reminded me of my comrades again.

It was such a bright night that I could see all the beds quite
distinctly. I looked at one after the other, stopping a little at
those of the girls I was fond of. Almost opposite me I saw my friend
Sophie, with her magnificent hair. It was scattered about over the
pillow, and lighted up the bed quite brightly. A little further down
the room were the beds of Chemineau the Proud, and her twin sister, the
Fool. Chemineau the Proud had a big smooth white forehead and gentle
eyes. She never said it was not true when she was accused of doing
anything wrong. She simply shrugged her shoulders and looked round her
with contempt. Sister Marie-Aimee used to say that her conscience was
as white as her forehead. Chemineau the Fool was half as tall again as
her sister. Her hair was coarse, and came down nearly to her eyebrows.
Her shoulders were square, and her hips were broad. We used to call
her the sister's watch-dog. And down at the other end of the dormitory
was Colette. She still believed that I was going to Mademoiselle
Maximilienne. She was quite sure that I should get married very soon,
and she had made me promise to come and fetch her as soon as I was
married. I thought about her for a long time. Then I looked at the
window and the shadows of the linden trees were thrown in my direction.
It was as though they had come to say good-bye to me, and I smiled at
them. On the other side of the lindens I could see the infirmary. It
looked as though it were trying to hide itself, and its little windows
made me think of weak eyes. I looked at the infirmary for some time,
thinking of Sister Agatha. She was so bright and so good that the
little girls always laughed when she scolded them. She did the
doctoring. When one of us went to her with a bad finger, she always
had something funny to say, and she always knew whether we were greedy
or vain, and would promise us a cake or a ribbon accordingly. She used
to pretend to look for it, and while we were looking to see where it
was, the bad place on the finger would be pricked, washed, and tied up.
I remember a chilblain that I had on my foot which would not get well.
One morning Sister Agatha said to me solemnly, "Listen, Marie Claire.
I must put something miraculous on