When evening came I saw that Sister Marie-Aimee 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 wrapped up in her eyes. I felt as though a soft warmth was all round me, and I felt comfortable. She gave me a long kiss on the forehead, then smiled at me and said, "There. You are my beautiful white lily." I thought her so beautiful, and her eyes shone so with several colours in them, that I said to her, "And you, too, mother; you are a lovely flower." She said in an off-hand way, "Yes; but I don't count among the lilies now." Then she said almost roughly, "Don't you love Ismerie any more?" "Yes, mother." "Really. Then what about Colette?" "I love Colette too." "Oh, you love everybody!" she said. I used to give Colette my arm nearly every day. She never talked to me much, and then only about the other girls. When I sat down next to her she used to look at me queerly. She said she thought I was a queer little thing. One day she asked me if I thought her pretty. Directly she said it, I remembered that Sister Marie-Aimee said that she was as black as a mole. I saw, however, that she had a broad forehead, fine big eyes, and the rest of her face was small and refined. Whenever I looked at her, I didn't quite know why, but I thought of a well, deep and dark, and full of hot water. No, I didn't think her pretty, but I wouldn't tell her so because she was a cripple. I said she would be much prettier if her skin were whiter. Little by little I became her friend. She told me that she hoped to go away and get married like Nina had done. Nina used to come and see us on Sundays with her child. Colette took hold of my arm and said, "You see, I must get married. I must." Then she stretched herself, bending her whole body forward. Sometimes she used to cry, and was in such deep trouble that I could not find anything to say to her. She would look at her poor twisted legs, and groan out, "There would have to be a miracle for me to get away from here."