arp, high-pitched voice, "You''re a rube, ha ha ha! Listen, how terrible her accent is! You''re not worthy to play with us."

Fiona went red as a beetroot, tears all at once welled up in her eyes. Even the other little girls crouched on the ground looking at her with pity became blurry and trembling.

The little girl held back her tears, refusing to blink until she turned her back to her classmates and squatted back against the wall. She fluttered her butterfly-like eyelashes, letting her tears fall on the ground.

"I''m so foolish, I thought I had already entered heaven! I''ve never belonged with them!" Fiona thought sadly, determined never to try to join the group again.

In music class, she stared blankly at the sheet music on the stand that she knew nothing about. Under the guidance of the Mother, the other girls in the classroom sang sweet and touching hymns, "Grant me life, O Lord Jesus divine, each day and night, my praise be thine; In your radiance, I humbly incline, and sing your name, in melodies fine..."

Fiona didn''t even open her mouth.

"Are you feeling unwell, Miss Sèvremont?" the young nun asked with concern.

The girl stubbornly shook her head.

In the evening, when it was time to read the abridgment of the lives of the saints, little Fiona encountered yet another heavy calamity.

Illiterate and ignorant of doctrine, she refused to admit it and simply remained silent when questioned about it, which angered the Mother in charge of her.

This long-faced Mother Agatha was far from the gentl