How quickly those sunny years of my childhood passed away, and what tender memories they have imprinted on my mind!  I remember the Sunday walks when my dear Mother always accompanied us; and I can still feel the impression made on my childish heart at the sight of the fields bright with cornflowers, poppies, and marguerites.  Even at that age I loved far-stretching views, sunlit spaces and stately trees; in a word, all nature charmed me and lifted up my soul to Heaven.

Often, during these walks, we met poor people.  I was always chosen to give them an alms, which made me feel very happy.  Sometimes, my dear Father, knowing the way was too long for his little Queen, took me home.  This was a cause of grief, and to console me Celine would fill her basket with daisies, and give them to me on her return.  Truly everything on earth smiled on me; I found flowers strewn at every step, and my naturally happy disposition helped to make life bright.  But a new era was about to dawn.

I was to be the Spouse of Our Lord at such an early age that it was necessary I should suffer from my childhood.  As the early spring flowers begin to come up under the snow and open at the first rays of the sun, so the Little Flower whose story I am writing had to pass through the winter of trial and to have her tender cup filled with the dew of tears. ______________________________

[1] Ps. 88[89]:1.

[2] This statue twice appeared as if endowed with life, in order to enlighten and console Mme. Martin, mother of Therese.  A like favour was granted to Therese herself, as will be seen in the course of the narrative.

[3] Mark 3:13.

[4] Cf.  Exodus 33:19.

[5] Cf.  Rom. 9:16.

[6] Cf.  Ps. 22[23]:1-4.

[7] Ps. 102[103]:8.

[8] The custom still prevails in some parts of France of blessing bread at the Offertory of the Mass and then distributing it to the faithful.  It is known as pain benit. This blessing only takes place at the Parochial Mass. [Ed.]

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CHAPTER II
A CATHOLIC HOUSEHOLD

All the details of my Mother’s illness are still fresh in my mind.  I remember especially her last weeks on earth, when Celine and I felt like poor little exiles.  Every morning a friend came to fetch us, and we spent the day with her.  Once, we had not had time to say our prayers before starting, and on the way my little sister whispered:  “Must we tell her that we have not said our prayers?” “Yes,” I answered.  So, very timidly, Celine confided our secret to her, and she exclaimed:  “Well, well, children, you shall say them.”  Then she took us to a large room, and left us there.  Celine looked at me in amazement.  I was equally astonished, and exclaimed:  “This is not like Mamma, she always said our prayers with us.”  During the day, in spite of all efforts to amuse us, the thought of our dear Mother was constantly in our minds.  I remember once, when my sister had an apricot given to her, she leant towards me and said:  “We will not eat it, I will give it to Mamma.”  Alas! our beloved Mother was now too ill to eat any earthly fruit; she would never more be satisfied but by the glory of Heaven.  There she would drink of the mysterious wine which Jesus, at His Last Supper, promised to share with us in the Kingdom of His Father.