We've been through the baccalauréat mill but at least I've learnt how to do a linear commentary on a text,  French style. 
French style isn't pretty.  It involves a ruthless grammatical dissection of a poetic text until the poetry is wrung out. It's a bit like a botanist meticulously destroying a flower or an entomologist, ripping the wings and legs off a butterfly.  
I couldn't do this, so  Mu didn't either.  We concentrated instead on lexical fields, movement  and volta.
It was hard going but not unpleasant.
We worked for hours a day in my empty classroom; Hugo, Laforgue, Cyrano de Bergerac, Madame de Lafayette (less pleasant) and Marivaux (Idem).
We put them all under the microscope and found them even more beautiful 
I left Mu trembling in the school courtyard and picked her up two hours later. 
Her incessant apologies became wearing so I concluded that it hadn't gone too well.
Text not dissected enough, according to the examiner.  There is no theme of colonialization in Camus' Etranger, according to the examiner who pointed out that Algeria was an integral part of France until 1962; a Département. Mu bleated all the way home that if it had been there wouldn't have been a violent, bloody war of independance.
I nodded away, wondering why we'd got all the red lights and why she'd had the misfortune  of falling upon a Pied Noir as examiner.
Tonight we've got cèpes for supper.