smerie sang all the time she sewed, and nobody ever
scolded her. Some of the girls sewed with bent backs and a frown on
their foreheads. Their fingers were moist, and their needles
squeaked. Others sewed slowly and carefully, without getting tired or
bored, counting their stitches under their breath. That is the way I
should have liked to sew. I used to scold myself for not doing so, and
then I used to imitate them for a few minutes. But the least sound
disturbed me, and I would stop and listen, or look at what was going on
all round me. Madeleine said that my nose was always in the air. I
spent most of my time imagining needles which would sew all by
themselves. For a long time I hoped that an old woman, whom nobody
would see but I, would come out of the big fireplace and sew my cap for
me very quickly. At last I took no notice of Sister Marie-Aimee's
scolding, and she didn't know what to do to make me work. One day she
decided that I was to read aloud twice a day. It was a great joy for
me. The time to begin reading never seemed to come quickly enough, and
I was always sorry when I closed the book.

When I had finished reading Sister Marie-Aimee used to make Colette the
cripple sing to us. She always sang the same songs, but her voice was
so lovely that we never got tired of listening to it. She sang quite
simply, without stopping her work, and she kept time with her needle as
she sang. Bonne Justine, who knew all about everybody, told us that
Colette had been brought in with both legs broken, when she was quite a
tiny child. She was twenty now. She walked with great difficulty,
helping herself with two sticks, and she would never use crutches
because she was afraid of looking like an old woman. During recreation
I always used to see her alone on a bench. She kept on throwing
herself back and stretching. Her dark eyes had such big pupils that
one hardly saw the whites at all. I felt drawn towards her. I should
have liked to have been her friend. She seemed very proud, and
whenever I did any little thing for her she had a way of saying, "Thank
you, little one," which made me remember that I was only twelve years
old. Madeleine told me, mysteriously, that we were not allowed to talk
to Colette alone, and when I wanted to know why, she reeled out a long
complicated story which told me nothing at all. I asked Bonne Justine,
who used a lot of words which I didn't understand, but told me tha