fast, and I got cramp in my stomach, which prevented me from breathing properly. When my turn came I got up and felt my legs trembling under me. My head buzzed, and my cheeks turned cold. I fell on my knees in the confessional and M. le Curé's voice, which sounded as though it came from a long way off, gave me confidence. But he always had to help me to remember my faults. If he hadn't, I should have forgotten half of them. At the end of confession he always asked me what my name was. I longed to tell him another name, but while I was wondering if I dare, my own name used to slip out of my mouth.

It was getting near the time for our Communion. It was to be in May, and preparations for it were beginning. Sister Marie-Aimée composed some new hymns. She had made one, which was a sort of thanksgiving for M. le Curé. A fortnight before the ceremony they separated us from the others. We had prayed all day long. Madeleine was supposed to see that we were not disturbed at prayer, but she often used to disturb us herself by quarrelling with one of us. My fellow communicant was called Sophie. She was a quiet little girl, and we always kept out of the quarrels. We used to talk over serious matters. I often told her how much I hated confession, and how frightened I was that I should pass through my communion badly. She was very good, and she did not understand what I had to be afraid of. She thought that I was not pious enough, and she had noticed that I used to go to sleep during prayers. She confessed to me that she was very frightened of death. She used to talk about it in a low voice, and looked very frightened. Her eyes were green, and her hair was so lovely that Sister Marie-Aimée would never have it cut short like that of the other girls.

At last the great day came. My general confession had passed off all right. It gave me the same feeling that a bath does. I felt very clean after it, but I trembled so when I was given the holy wafer that a bit of it stuck in my teeth. A sort of dizziness came over me, and I felt as though a big black curtain had dropped in front of my eyes, I thought I heard Sister Marie-Aimée's voice asking "Are you ill," and I seemed to know that she went with me as far as my fald-stool, and that she put my taper into my hand and said, "Hold it tight." My throat had grown so tight that I could not swallow, and I felt a liquid dropping from my mouth into my throat. Then I was wildly frightened, for Madeleine had warned us that if we bit the holy wafer the blood of Christ would stream from our mouths, and that nobody would be able to stop it. Sister Marie-Aimée wiped my face and whispered quite low, "Take care, dear. Are you ill?" My throat loosened, and I swallowed the wafer. Then at last I dared to look down to see the blood on my dress, but I saw only a little grey spot like a drop of water. I put my handkerchief to my lips and wiped my face. There was no blood on it. I did not feel quite sure yet, but when we got up to sing I tried to sing with the others. When M. le Curé came to see us later in the day Sister Marie-Aimée told him that I had almost fainted at Communion. He took my chin in his hand and tipped my face up towards him. Then, after looking into my eyes, he began to laugh, and said that I was a very sensitive little girl.

After our first communion we did not attend class any more. Bonne Justine taught us to sew. We made caps for peasant women. It was not very difficult, and as it was something new I worked hard. Bonne Justine said that I should make a very good needle-woman. Sister Marie-Aimée used to kiss me and say, "So you would, if you could only get over your laziness." But when I had made a few caps and had to go on doing the same thing over and over again, my laziness got the better of me. The work bored me, and I could not make up my mind to do it. I could have remained for hours and hours without moving, watching the others work. Marie Renaud never spoke to us while she was sewing. Her stitches were so small and so close together that one needed good eyes to see them. Ismérie sang all the time she sewed, and nobody ever scolded her. Some of the girls sewed with bent backs and a frown on their foreheads. Their fingers were moist, and their needles squeaked. Others sewed slowly and carefully, without getting tired or bored, counting their stitches under their breath. That is the way I should have liked to sew. I used to scold myself for not doing so, and then I used to imitate them for a few minutes. But the least sound disturbed me, and I would stop and listen, or look at what was going on all round me. Madeleine said that my nose was always in the air. I spent most of my time imagining needles which would sew all by themselves. For a long time I hoped that an old woman, whom nobody would see but I, would come out of the big fireplace and sew my cap for me very quickly. At last I took no notice of Sister Marie-Aimée's scolding, and she didn't know what to do to make me work. One day she decided that I was to read aloud twice a day. It was a great joy for me. The time to begin reading never seemed to come quickly enough, and I was always sorry when I closed the book.

When I had finished reading Sister Marie-Aimée used to make Colette the cripple sing to us. She always sang the same songs, but her voice was so lovely that we never got tired of listening to it. She sang quite simply, without stopping her work, and she kept time with her needle as she sang. Bonne Justine, who knew all about everybody, told us that Colette had been brought in with both legs broken, when she was quite a tiny child. She was twenty now. She walked with great difficulty, helping herself with two sticks, and she would never use crutches because she was afraid of looking like an old woman. During recreation I always used to see her alone on a bench. She kept on throwing herself back and stretching. Her dark eyes had such big pupils that one hardly saw the whites at all. I felt drawn towards her. I should have liked to have been her friend. She seemed very proud, and whenever I did any little thing for her she had a way of saying, "Thank you, little one," which made me remember that I was only twelve years old. Madeleine told me, mysteriously, that we were not allowed to talk to Colette alone, and when I wanted to know why, she reeled out a long complicated story which told me nothing at all. I asked Bonne Justine, who used a lot of words which I didn't understand, but told me that a little girl like me must not be alone with Colette. I could never understand why. I noticed that every time one of the big girls gave her her arm to help her to walk about a little, three or four other girls always came up and talked and laughed with them. I thought that she had no friends. A feeling of great pity drew me to her, and one day when she was all alone I asked her to take my arm for a little walk. I was standing in front of her timidly, but I knew that she would not refuse. She looked at me and said, "You know it is not allowed." I nodded "Yes." She looked at me again. "Aren't you afraid of being punished?" she said. I shook my head to say "No." I wanted to cry and it made my throat feel tight. I helped her to get up. She leaned on her stick with one hand and put all her weight on my shoulder. I could see how difficult it was for her to walk. She did not say a word to me while we were walking, and when I had taken her back to her bench she looked at me and said, "Thank you, Marie Claire." When she saw me with Colette, Bonne Justine raised her arms to heaven and made the sign of the cross. At the other end of the playground Madeleine shook her fist at me and shouted.

When evening came I saw that Sister Marie-Aimée knew what I had done, but she never said a word about it. At recreation next day she drew me towards her, took my head in her two hands and bent towards me. She didn't say anything to me, but her eyes plunged right into my face. I felt as though I were