Thus in many pretty ways she hid her mortifications.  One fast-day, however, when our Reverend Mother ordered her some special food, I found her seasoning it with wormwood because it was too much to her taste.  On another occasion I saw her drinking very slowly a most unpleasant medicine.  “Make haste,” I said, “drink it off at once!” “Oh, no!” she answered; “must I not profit of these small opportunities for penance since the greater ones are forbidden me?”

Toward the end of her life I learned that, during her noviciate, one of our Sisters, when fastening the scapular for her, ran the large pin through her shoulder, and for hours she bore the pain with joy.  On another occasion she gave me proof of her interior mortification.  I had received a most interesting letter which was read aloud at recreation, during her absence.  In the evening she expressed the wish to read it, and I gave it to her.  Later on, when she returned it, I begged her to tell me what she thought of one of the points of the letter which I knew ought to have charmed her.  She seemed rather confused, and after a pause she answered:  “God asked of me the sacrifice of this letter because of the eagerness I displayed the other day . . . so I have not read it.”

* * * * * *

When speaking to her of the mortifications of the Saints, she remarked:  “It was well that Our Lord warned us:  ’In My Father’s House there are many mansions, otherwise I would have told you.’[9] For, if every soul called to perfection were obliged to perform these austerities in order to enter Heaven, He would have told us, and we should have willingly undertaken them.  But He has declared that, ‘there are many mansions in His House.’  If there are some for great souls, for the Fathers of the Desert and for Martyrs of penance, there must also be one for little children.  And in that one a place is kept for us, if we but love Him dearly together with Our Father and the Spirit of Love.”

* * * * * *

“While in the world, I used, on waking, to think of all the pleasant or unpleasant things which might happen throughout the day, and if I foresaw nothing but worries I got up with a heavy heart.  Now it is quite the reverse.  I think of the pains and of the sufferings awaiting me, and I rise, feeling all the more courageous and light of heart in proportion to the opportunities I foresee of proving my love for Our Lord, and of gaining—­mother of souls as I am—­my children’s livelihood.  Then I kiss my crucifix, and, laying it gently on my pillow, I leave it there while I dress, and I say:  ’My Jesus, Thou hast toiled and wept enough during Thy three-and-thirty years on this miserable earth.  Rest Thee, to-day!  It is my turn to suffer and to fight.’”

* * * * * *

One washing-day I was sauntering towards the laundry, and looking at the flowers as I passed.  Soeur Therese was following, and quickly overtook me:  “Is that,” she said quietly, “how people hurry themselves when they have children, and are obliged to work to procure them food?”