This childish answer amused my sisters very much.  I was deeply impressed by the graces I had received, and wished to go to confession again for all the big feasts, for these confessions filled me with joy.  The feasts!  What precious memories these simple words bring to me.  I loved them; and my sisters knew so well how to explain the mysteries hidden in each one.  Those days of earth became days of Heaven.  Above all I loved the procession of the Blessed Sacrament:  what a joy it was to strew flowers in God’s path!  But before scattering them on the ground I threw them high in the air, and was never so happy as when I saw my rose-leaves touch the sacred Monstrance.

And if the great feasts came but seldom, each week brought one very dear to my heart, and that was Sunday.  What a glorious day!  The Feast of God!  The day of rest!  First of all the whole family went to High Mass, and I remember that before the sermon we had to come down from our places, which were some way from the pulpit, and find seats in the nave.  This was not always easy, but to little Therese and her Father everyone offered a place.  My uncle was delighted when he saw us come down; he called me his “Sunbeam,” and said that to see the venerable old man leading his little daughter by the hand was a sight which always filled him with joy.  I never troubled myself if people looked at me, I was only occupied in listening attentively to the preacher.  A sermon on the Passion of our Blessed Lord was the first I understood, and it touched me deeply.  I was then five and a half, and after that time I was able to understand and appreciate all instructions.  If St. Teresa was mentioned, my Father would bend down and whisper to me:  “Listen attentively, little Queen, he is speaking of your holy patroness.”  I really did listen attentively, but I must own I looked at Papa more than at the preacher, for I read many things in his face.  Sometimes his eyes were filled with tears which he strove in vain to keep back; and as he listened to the eternal truths he seemed no longer of this earth, his soul was absorbed in the thought of another world.  Alas!  Many long and sorrowful years had to pass before Heaven was to be opened to him, and Our Lord with His Own Divine Hand was to wipe away the bitter tears of His faithful servant.

To go back to the description of our Sundays.  This happy day which passed so quickly had also its touch of melancholy; my happiness was full till Compline, but after that a feeling of sadness took possession of me.  I thought of the morrow when one had to begin again the daily life of work and lessons, and my heart, feeling like an exile on this earth, longed for the repose of Heaven—­the never ending Sabbath of our true Home.  Every Sunday my aunt invited us in turns to spend the evening with her.  I was always glad when mine came, and it was a pleasure to listen to my uncle’s conversation.  His talk was serious, but it interested me, and he little knew that I paid such attention; but my joy was not unmixed with fear when he took me on his knee and sang “Bluebeard” in his deep voice.