ere Sister Desiree-des-Anges sleeps."
When they had gone out, closing the door behind them, I sat closer to
the bed. The big white curtain made me feel uncomfortable. I thought
I could see shadows moving in the folds which the night-light left in
darkness. Then I heard the dinner-bell. I recognized it, and without
knowing what I was doing I counted the strokes. Everything was quite
still for some time, and then the young sister came into the room
bringing me a bowl of steaming soup. She pulled the big curtain back
and said, "This is your room, and that is mine." I felt quite
reassured when I saw that her little iron bedstead was exactly the same
as my own. I began to wonder whether she was Sister Desiree-des-Anges,
but I dared not believe it, and asked her. She nodded "Yes," and
drawing her chair close to mine, she put her face in the full light and
said, "Don't you recognize me?" I looked at her without answering.
No, I didn't recognize her. In fact, I was certain that I had never
seen her; for I was certain that one could never forget her face if one
had seen it once. She made a funny little grimace, and said, "I can
see you don't remember poor Desiree Joly." Desiree Joly? Of course I
remembered her. She was a girl who had become a novice. Her face was
rosier than roses. She had a beautiful, slim figure, and used to laugh
all day long. We all loved her. She used to jump about so when she
played with us that Sister Marie-Aimee often used to say to her, "Come
now, come now, not so high, please, Mademoiselle Joly! You are showing
your knees!" Even now, when I was looking at her, I could not remember
her. She said "Yes, the dress makes a lot of difference." She pulled
up her sleeves; and making the same funny little face again, she said,
"Forget that I am Sister Desiree-des-Anges, and remember that Desiree
Joly used to be very fond of you." Then she went on quickly, "I
recognized you at once," she said. "You still have the same baby
face." When I told her I had imagined Sister Desiree-des-Anges to be
old and cross, she answered, "We were both wrong. I had been told that
you were vain and proud; but when I saw you crying in the middle of the
snow, I thought only that you were suffering, and I went to you." When
she had helped me to bed, she divided the room again with the curtain,
and I went to sleep at once.

But I didn't sleep well. I woke up every minute. There was a heavy
stone on my chest