Dear Mother, I have still to tell you what I understand by the sweet odour of the Beloved. As Our Lord is now in Heaven, I can only follow Him by the footprints He has left—­footprints full of life, full of fragrance.  I have only to open the Holy Gospels and at once I breathe the perfume of Jesus, and then I know which way to run; and it is not to the first place, but to the last, that I hasten.  I leave the Pharisee to go up, and full of confidence I repeat the humble prayer of the Publican.  Above all I follow Magdalen, for the amazing, rather I should say, the loving audacity, that delights the Heart of Jesus, has cast its spell upon mine.  It is not because I have been preserved from mortal sin that I lift up my heart to God in trust and love.  I feel that even had I on my conscience every crime one could commit, I should lose nothing of my confidence:  my heart broken with sorrow, I would throw myself into the Arms of my Saviour.  I know that He loves the Prodigal Son, I have heard His words to St. Mary Magdalen, to the woman taken in adultery, and to the woman of Samaria.  No one could frighten me, for I know what to believe concerning His Mercy and His Love.  And I know that all that multitude of sins would disappear in an instant, even as a drop of water cast into a flaming furnace.

It is told in the Lives of the Fathers of the Desert how one of them converted a public sinner, whose evil deeds were the scandal of the whole country.  This wicked woman, touched by grace, followed the Saint into the desert, there to perform rigorous penance.  But on the first night of the journey, before even reaching the place of her retirement, the bonds that bound her to earth were broken by the vehemence of her loving sorrow.  The holy man, at the same instant, saw her soul borne by Angels to the Bosom of God.

This is a striking example of what I want to say, but these things cannot be expressed.  Dearest Mother, if weak and imperfect souls like mine felt what I feel, none would despair of reaching the summit of the Mountain of Love, since Jesus does not ask for great deeds, but only for gratitude and self-surrender.

He says:  “I will not take the he-goats from out of the flocks, for all the beasts of the forests are mine, the cattle on the hills and the oxen.  I know all the fowls of the air.  If I were hungry, I would not tell thee, for the world is Mine, and the fulness thereof.  Shall I eat the flesh of bullocks, or shall I drink the blood of goats?  Offer to God the sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving."[5]

This is all Our Lord claims from us.  He has need of our love—­He has no need of our works.  The same God, Who declares that He has no need to tell us if He be hungry, did not disdain to beg a little water from the Samaritan woman.  He was athirst, but when He said:  “Give me to drink,"[6] He, the Creator of the Universe, asked for the love of His creature.  He thirsted for love.