When mamma saw the wide staircase leading to the dormitories she was aghast. It was very, very wide, and the steps were low and easy to mount, but there were so many of them before one reached the first floor. For a few seconds mamma hesitated and stood there gazing at them, her arms hanging down in despair. “Stay down here, Youle,” said my aunt, “and I will go up.” “No, no,” replied my mother in a sorrowful voice. “I must see where the child is to sleep—she is so delicate.” My father helped her, and indeed almost carried her up, and we then went into one of the immense dormitories. It was very much like the dormitory at Madame Fressard’s, but a great deal larger, and there was a tiled floor without any carpet. [Illustration: THE GRAND CHAMP CONVENT, FROM THE GARDEN ] “Oh, this is quite impossible!” exclaimed mamma. “The child cannot sleep here; it is too cold; it would kill her.” The Mother Superior, St. Sophie, gave my mother a chair and tried to soothe her. She was pale, for her heart was already very much affected. “We will put your little girl in this dormitory, Madame,” she said, opening a door that led into a room with eight beds. The floor was of polished wood, and this room, adjoining the infirmary, was the one in which delicate or convalescent children slept. Mamma was reassured on seeing this, and we then went down and inspected the grounds. There were three woods, the “Little Wood,” the “Middle Wood,” and the “Big Wood,” and then there was an orchard that stretched along as far as the eye could see. In this orchard was the building where the poor children lived. They were taught gratis, and every week they helped with the laundry for the convent. The sight of these immense woods, with swings, hammocks, and a gymnasium, delighted me, for I thought I should be able to roam about at pleasure there. Mother St. Sophie explained to us that the Little Wood was reserved for the older pupils, and the Middle Wood for the little ones, whilst the Big Wood was for the whole convent on holidays. Then after telling us about the collecting of the chestnuts and the gathering of the acacia, Mother St. Sophie informed us that every child could have a small garden, and that sometimes two or three of them had a larger one. “Oh, can I have a garden of my own?” I exclaimed—“a garden all to myself?” “Yes, one of your own.” The Mother Superior called the gardener, Père Larcher, the only man, with the exception of the chaplain, who was on the convent staff. “Père Larcher,” said the kind woman, “here is a little girl who wants a beautiful garden. Find a nice place for it.” “Very good, Reverend Mother,” answered the honest fellow, and I saw my father slip a coin into his hand, for which the man thanked him in an embarrassed way.