If you are willing to bear in peace the trial of not being pleased with yourself, you will be offering the Divine Master a home in your heart.  It is true that you will suffer, because you will be like a stranger to your own house; but do not be afraid—­the poorer you are, the more Jesus will love you.  I know that He is better pleased to see you stumbling in the night upon a stony road, than walking in the full light of day upon a path carpeted with flowers, because these flowers might hinder your advance.

VI

July 14, 1889.

MY DARLING SISTER,—­I am ever with you in spirit.  Yes, it is very hard to live upon this earth, but to-morrow, in a brief hour, we shall be at rest.  O my God, what shall we then see?  What is this life which will have no end?  Our Lord will be the soul of our soul.  O unsearchable mystery!  “Eye hath not seen nor ear heard, neither hath it entered into the heart of man what things God hath prepared for them that love Him."[10] And all this will come soon—­very soon—­if we love Jesus ardently.  It seems to me that God has no need of years to perfect His labour of love in a soul.  One ray from His Heart can in an instant make His flower blossom forth, never to fade. . . .  Celine, during the fleeting moments that remain to us, let us save souls!  I feel that Our Spouse asks us for souls—­above all, for the souls of Priests. . . .  It is He Who bids me tell you this.

There is but one thing to be done here below:  to love Jesus, and to save souls for Him that He may be more loved.  We must not let slip the smallest opportunity of giving Him joy.  We must refuse Him nothing.  He is in such need of love.

We are His chosen lilies.  He dwells as a King in our midst—­He lets us share the honours of His Royalty—­His Divine Blood bedews our petals—­ and His Thorns as they wound us spread abroad the perfume of our love.

VII

October 22, 1889.

MY DEAREST CELINE,—­I send you a picture of the Holy Face.  The contemplation of this Divine subject seems to me to belong in a special way to my little sister, truly the sister of my soul.  May she be another Veronica, and wipe away all the Blood and Tears of Jesus, her only Love!  May she give Him souls!  May she force her way through the soldiers—­that is, the world—­to come close to His side. . . .  Happy will she be when she sees in Heaven the value of that mysterious draught with which she quenched the thirst of her Heavenly Spouse; when she sees His Lips, once parched with burning thirst, speaking to her the one eternal word—­love, and the thanks which shall have no end. . . .

Good-bye, dear little Veronica;[11] to-morrow, no doubt, your Beloved will ask some new sacrifice, a fresh relief for His thirst . . . but “let us go and die with Him!”

VIII