I remember also my great affection for my eldest sister Marie, who had just left school.  Without seeming to do so, I took in all that I saw and heard, and I think that I reflected on things then as I do now.  I listened attentively while she taught Celine, and was very good and obedient, so as to obtain the privilege of being allowed in the room during lessons.  She gave me many trifling presents which pleased me greatly.  I was proud of my two big sisters; but as Pauline seemed so far away from us, I thought of her all day long.  When I was only just learning to talk, and Mamma asked:  “What are you thinking about?” my answer invariably was:  “Pauline.”  Sometimes I heard people saying that Pauline would be a nun, and, without quite knowing what it meant, I thought:  “I will be a nun too.”  This is one of my first recollections, and I have never changed my mind; so it was the example of this beloved sister which, from the age of two, drew me to the Divine Spouse of Virgins.  My dearest Mother, what tender memories of Pauline I could confide to you here!  But it would take me too long.

Leonie had also a very warm place in my heart; she loved me very much, and her love was returned.  In the evening when she came home from school she used to take care of me while the others went out, and it seems to me I can still hear the sweet songs she sang to put me to sleep.  I remember perfectly the day of her First Communion, and I remember also her companion, the poor child whom my Mother dressed, according to the touching custom of the well-to-do families in Alencon.  This child did not leave Leonie for an instant on that happy day, and in the evening at the grand dinner she sat in the place of honour.  Alas!  I was too small to stay up for this feast, but I shared in it a little, thanks to Papa’s goodness, for he came himself to bring his little Queen a piece of the iced cake.

The only one now left to speak of is Celine, the companion of my childhood.  My memories of her are so many that I do not know which to choose.  We understood each other perfectly, but I was much more forward and lively, and far less ingenuous.  Here is a letter which will show you, dear Mother, how sweet was Celine, and how naughty Therese.  I was then nearly three years old, and Celine six and a half.  “Celine is naturally inclined to be good; as to the little puss, Therese, one cannot tell how she will turn out, she is so young and heedless.  She is a very intelligent child, but has not nearly so sweet a disposition as her sister, and her stubbornness is almost unconquerable.  When she has said ‘No,’ nothing will make her change; one could leave her all day in the cellar without getting her to say ‘Yes.’  She would sooner sleep there.”

I had another fault also, of which my Mother did not speak in her letters:  it was self-love.  Here are two instances:  —­One day, no doubt wishing to see how far my pride would go, she smiled and said to me, “Therese, if you will kiss the ground I will give you a halfpenny.”  In those days a halfpenny was a fortune, and in order to gain it I had not far to stoop, for I was so tiny there was not much distance between me and the ground; but my pride was up in arms, and holding myself very erect, I said, “No, thank you, Mamma, I would rather go without it.”