“Come, come,” she said, “you must not dawdle like this.” She then planted the comb in my mop of hair and tore out a handful of it. Pain and anger at seeing myself treated in this way threw me immediately into one of my fits of rage which always terrified those who witnessed them. I flung myself upon the unfortunate Sister and with feet, teeth, hands, elbows, head and, indeed, all my poor little body I hit, thumped, and at the same time yelled. All the pupils, all the Sisters, and indeed everyone came running to see what was the matter. The Sisters made the sign of the cross but did not venture to approach me. The Mother Prefect threw some holy water over me to exorcise the evil spirit. Finally the Mother Superior arrived on the scene. My father had told her of my fits of wild fury, which were my only serious fault, and my state of health was quite as much responsible for them as the violence of my disposition. She approached me. I was still clutching Sister Marie, but was exhausted by this struggle with the poor woman, who although tall and strong, only tried to ward off my blows without retaliating, endeavoring to hold first my feet, and then my hands. I looked up on hearing Mother Ste. Sophie’s voice. My eyes were bathed in tears, but nevertheless I saw such an expression of pity on her sweet face that without altogether letting go I ceased fighting for a second, and trembling and ashamed, said very quickly: “She commenced it, she snatched the comb out of my hand like a wicked woman, and tore out my hair. She was rough and hurt me. She is a wicked, wicked woman.” I then burst into sobs and my hands loosed their hold. The next thing I knew was that I found myself lying on my little bed with Mother Ste. Sophie’s hand on my forehead and her kind, deep voice lecturing me gently. All the others had gone and I was quite alone with her and the Holy Virgin in the niche. From that day forth Mother Ste. Sophie had an immense influence over me. Every morning I went to her, and Sister Marie, whose forgiveness I had been obliged to ask before the whole convent, combed my hair out in her presence. Seated on a little stool I listened to the book that the Mother Superior read to me or to the instructive story she told me.