The heat did me good, and I felt better.
I was beginning to understand at last that I had come back to the
Orphanage, and that I was in the Mother Superior's room. My eyes met
hers, and I remembered everything. She laughed a little, and said,
"You have not changed much. How old are you now?"

I told her that I was eighteen years old. "Really," she said. "Going
out into the world has not made you grow much." She leaned one elbow
on the table, and asked me why I had come back. I wanted to tell her
that I had come back to see Sister Marie-Aimee, but I was afraid of
hearing her say once more that Sister Marie-Aimee was not there, and I
remained silent. She opened a drawer, took out a letter, which she
covered with her open hand, and said in the weary voice of a person who
has been bothered unnecessarily, "This letter had already told me that
you had become a bold, proud girl." She pushed the letter from her as
though she were tired, and in a long breath she said, "You can work in
the kitchen here until we find you something else to do." The fire
went on whistling. I went on looking at it, but I could not make out
which of the three logs was making the noise. The Mother Superior
raised her monotonous voice to draw my attention. She warned me that
Sister Desiree-des-Anges would watch me very closely, and that I should
not be allowed to talk to my former companions. I saw her point to the
door, and I went out into the snow.

At the other side of the yard I could see the kitchens. Sister
Desiree-des-Anges, who was tall and slim, was waiting for me at the
door. I could see nothing of her but her cap and her black dress, and
I imagined her to be old and withered. I thought of running away. I
need only run to the gate and tell Ox Eye that I had come on a visit.
She would let me out, and that would be all.

Instead of going to the gate I went towards the buildings where I had
lived when I was a child. I didn't know why I went there, but I could
not help it. I felt very tired, and I should have liked to lie down
and sleep for a long time.

The old bench was in the same place. I wiped some of the snow off it
with my hands, and sat down leaning against the linden tree as M. le
Cure used to do. I was waiting for something, and I didn't know what.
I looked up at the window of Sister Marie-Aimee's room. The pretty
embroidered curtains were no longer there, and although the window was
just like the other windows