I disliked sewing as much as ever, and my hatred for it began to make Sister Marie-Aimée uneasy. She mentioned it in front of me to M. le Curé's sister. M. le Curé's sister was an old maid with a long face and big faded eyes. We called her Mademoiselle Maximilienne. Sister Marie-Aimée told her how anxious she was about my future. She said that I learned things easily, but that no kind of sewing interested me. She had noticed for some time that I was fond of study, and she had made inquiries to find out whether I had no distant relatives who would look after me, she said. But the only relation I had was an old woman who had adopted my sister, but refused to take me. Mademoiselle Maximilienne offered to take me into her dressmaking business. M. le Curé thought that was a very good idea, and said that he would be pleased to go and teach me a little, twice a week. Sister Marie-Aimée seemed really happy at this. She did not know what to say to thank them. It was agreed that I should go to Mademoiselle Maximilienne as soon as M. le Curé returned from a journey to Rome, which he had to make. Sister Marie-Aimée would get my outfit ready for me, and Mademoiselle Maximilienne would go to the Mother Superior and ask her permission, she said. I felt dreadfully uncomfortable at the idea that the Mother Superior was to have anything to do with it. I could not forget the unkind look she always gave me when she passed the old bench and saw me sitting there with Sister Marie-Aimée and M. le Curé. So I waited impatiently to hear what she would say to Mademoiselle Maximilienne. M. le Curé had been away for a week, and Sister Marie-Aimée used to talk to me every day about my new work. She told me how glad she would be to see me on Sundays. She gave me all kinds of good advice, told me to be good and to take care of my health.
The Mother Superior sent for me one morning. When I went into her room I noticed that she was sitting in a big red armchair. I began to remember some ghost stories which I had heard the girls tell about her, and when I saw her sitting there, all black in the middle of all that red, I compared her in my mind to a huge poppy which had grown in a cellar. She opened and closed her eyelids several times. She had a smile on her face which was like an insult. I felt myself blushing, but I did not turn my eyes away. She gave a little sneering chuckle, and said, "You know why I sent for you?" I answered that I thought it was to talk to me about Mademoiselle Maximilienne. She sneered again, "Oh, yes; Mademoiselle Maximilienne," she said. "Well, my child, you must undeceive yourself. We have made up our minds to place you on a farm in Sologne." She half closed her eyes and snapped out, "You are to be a shepherdess, young woman." Then she added, rapping the words out, "You will look after the sheep." I said simply, "Very well, mother." She pulled herself up out of the depths of her armchair and asked me, "Do you know what looking after the sheep means?" I answered that I had seen shepherdesses in the fields. She bent her yellow face towards me and went on, "You will have to clean the stables. They smell very unpleasantly, and the shepherdesses are dirty. You will help in the work of the farm, and be taught to milk the cows and look after the pigs." She spoke very loud, as though she were afraid I should not understand her. I answered as I had answered before, "Very well, mother." She pulled herself up by the arms of her chair, fastened her shining eyes on me, and said, "You don't mean to tell me that you are not proud?" I smiled, and said, "No, mother." She seemed very much surprised, but, as I went on smiling, her voice grew softer. "Really, my child?" she said. "I always thought you were proud." She dropped back into her chair again, hid her eyes under their lids, and began talking quickly in a monotonous voice, as she did when she said prayers. She said that I must obey my masters, that I must never forget my religious duties, and that the farmer's wife would come and fetch me the day before the feast of St. John.