Next day Sister Marie-Aimee looked after us as usual. She didn't cry any more, but she would not let us talk to her. She walked along with her eyes on the ground, and seemed to have forgotten me. I had only one day more, as the Mother Superior had told me I should be fetched next day, for the day after was the feast of St. John. In the evening, at the end of prayers, when Sister Marie-Aimee had said, "Lord, be pitiful to exiles and give your aid to prisoners," she added, in a loud voice, "We will say a prayer for one of your companions who is going out into the world." I understood at once that she was talking of me, and I felt that I was as much to be pitied as the exiles and the prisoners were. I could not get to sleep that night. I knew that I was going next day, but I didn't know what Sologne was like. I imagined it to be a country very far off, where there were large plains with flowers on them. I imagined myself the shepherdess of a troop of beautiful white sheep, with two dogs by my side which kept the sheep in order at a sign from me. I would not have dared to tell Sister 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