And this thirst of Our Divine Lord was ever on the increase.  Amongst the disciples of the world, He meets with nothing but indifference and ingratitude, and alas! among His own, how few hearts surrender themselves without reserve to the infinite tenderness of His Love.  Happy are we who are privileged to understand the inmost secrets of Our Divine Spouse.  If you, dear Mother, would but set down in writing all you know, what wonders could you not unfold!

But, like Our Blessed Lady, you prefer to keep all these things in your heart.[7] To me you say that “It is honourable to reveal and confess the world of God."[8] Yet you are right to keep silence, for no earthly words can convey the secrets of Heaven.

As for me, in spite of all I have written, I have not as yet begun.  I see so many beautiful horizons, such infinitely varied tints, that the palette of the Divine Painter will alone, after the darkness of this life, be able to supply me with the colours wherewith I may portray the wonders that my soul descries.  Since, however, you have expressed a desire to penetrate into the hidden sanctuary of my heart, and to have in writing what was the most consoling dream of my life, I will end this story of my soul, by an act of obedience.  If you will allow me, it is to Jesus I will address myself, for in this way I shall speak more easily.  You may find my expressions somewhat exaggerated, but I assure you there is no exaggeration in my heart—­there all is calm and peace.

O my Jesus, who can say how tenderly and gently Thou dost lead my soul!  The storm had raged there ever since Easter, the glorious feast of Thy triumph, until, in the month of May, there shone through the darkness of my night one bright ray of grace. . . .  My mind dwelt on mysterious dreams sent sometimes to Thy favoured ones, and I thought how such a consolation was not to be mine—­that for me, it was night, always the dark night.  And in the midst of the storm I fell asleep.  The following day, May 10, just at dawn, I dreamt that I was walking in a gallery alone with Our Mother.  Suddenly, without knowing how they had entered, I perceived three Carmelites, in mantles and long veils, and I knew that they came from Heaven.  “Ah!” I thought, “how glad I should be if I could but look on the face of one of these Carmelites!” And, as if my wish had been heard, I saw the tallest of the three Saints advance towards me.  An inexpressible joy took possession of me as she raised her veil, and then covered me with it.

At once I recognised our Venerable Mother, Anne of Jesus, foundress of the Carmel in France.[9] Her face was beautiful with an unearthly beauty; no rays came from it, and yet, in spite of the thick veil which enveloped us, I could see it suffused by a soft light, which seemed to emanate from her heavenly countenance.  She caressed me tenderly, and seeing myself the object of such affection, I made bold to say:  “Dear Mother, I entreat you, tell me, will Our Lord leave