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travelled with us recommended we have patience. We needed lots of it: I was terribly anxious to get to the new convent. Once on board, I took advantage of the opportunity to admire the scenery, so totally different from that of Quebec. As we approached Paris, I became tremendously excited. Sister Adolphine had told me a great deal about Paris, which people called the City of Lights, the place where all the great fashion designers were located. That was very important to me. I couldn’t wait to start sewing again and learn new techniques as I had been promised. To pass the time, I isolated myself in an out-of-the way corner of the railway car and sketched styles of dresses worn by ladies aboard the ship or the trains. These drawings would have to stay in my notebooks, of course, because the nuns would never agree to my making clothes for lay people. But no one could stop me from dreaming.
    In the early evening we finally arrived in Brittany, at the station of Rennes, the town where the mother house of the community of the Filles de Sainte-Marie de la Présentation was situated. A kind, thoughtful nun met us on the platform. I recognized Sister Adolphine’s accent right away. It warmed my heart. Through hearing that voice all the time, I had grown used to it.
    At last we reached the end of our journey. I had sometimes thought it would never end. Several nuns were waiting for us at the entrance of the convent. And what a convent! It was huge. Again, I couldn’t believe my eyes and stood admiring its architecture for a few long moments before going inside. How many years had it taken to construct such a colossal building? I couldn’t say. But I had never seen stone walls as massive as these. You would think you were in a fortress. I already felt safe. Though tired from the journey, I mustered up the energy to walk around the premises and meet all those who lived here.
    The convent was at least four times as large as the one where I grew up. How would I manage not to get lost in the beginning? I recognized the smells of my old convent, those of floor polish, oiled woodwork, and disinfectant. Though at first these smells had put me off, with the passing of time they had become part of my daily life.
    A nun kindly showed us around our new quarters, but because of her strong accent I missed some of her explanations.
    Except for a few details, the dormitory was identical to the one I had first set eyes on when I was six years old. This time, however, it struck me as pleasant. A new life was beginning for me and I had a taste for learning and for savouring every moment. I found our hostesses delightfully friendly and, above all, very patient with us, the “little nuns from Canada,” as they called us. I was happy to discover that the community’s rules of life were much less strict than in Quebec, and the chores less heavy and more varied.
    After a light meal of bread and cheese, we went to bed. We badly needed to, especially Éva, who had to stay in the infirmary for a week to recover from the journey.
    Two days after our arrival, Thérèse Martel and I took off again to receive our novitiate training on Guernsey, a Channel island about a hundred kilometres off St. Malo. The boat trip lasted a day, but since I came from afar, that didn’t frighten me at all. On the eight-kilometre-long island, automobiles were driven on the left-hand side of the road, as in England; the currency in use was the pound sterling. People earned their living in the shipbuilding industry and from fishing. Fish, in fact, was something I would eat my fill of on this island.
    When we landed on Guernsey, we were taken to the parish of Sainte-Marie-du-Câtel, where the community’s second house, La Chaumière, was located. This is where the nuns did their novitiate training. With its varnished woodwork throughout, the house, more modest than the mother house at Rennes, had a rustic character. In the garden grew many fruit trees. It was a friendly,