At that time I had not courage even to think that Papa could die, without being terrified.  One day he was standing on a high step-ladder, and as I was close by he called out:  “Move away, little Queen; if I fall I shall crush you.”  Instantly I felt an inward shock, and, going still nearer to the ladder, I thought:  “At least if Papa falls I shall not have the pain of seeing him die, for I shall die with him.”  I could never say how much I loved him.  I admired everything he did.  When he explained his ideas on serious matters, as if I were a big girl, I answered him naively:  “It is quite certain, Papa, that if you spoke like that to the great men who govern the country they would take you and make you King.  Then France would be happier than it was ever been; but you would be unhappy, because that is the lot of kings; besides you would no longer be my King alone, so I am glad that they do not know you.”

When I was six or seven years old I saw the sea for the first time.  The sight made a deep impression on me, I could not take my eyes off it.  Its majesty, and the roar of the waves, all spoke to my soul of the greatness and power of God.  I remember, when we were on the beach, a man and woman looked at me for a long time, then, asking Papa if I was his child, they remarked that I was a very pretty little girl.  Papa at once made a sign to them not to flatter me; I was delighted to hear what they said, for I did not think I was pretty.  My sisters were most careful never to talk before me in such a way as to spoil my simplicity and childish innocence; and, because I believed so implicitly in them, I attached little importance to the admiration of these people and thought no more about it.

That evening at the hour when the sun seems to sink into the vast ocean, leaving behind it a trail of glory, I sat with Pauline on a bare rock, and gazed for long on this golden furrow which she told me was an image of grace illumining the way of faithful souls here below.  Then I pictured my soul as a tiny barque, with a graceful white sail, in the midst of the furrow, and I resolved never to let it withdraw from the sight of Jesus, so that it might sail peacefully and quickly towards the Heavenly Shore. ______________________________

[1] This holy nun had been professed at the Carmel of Poitiers, and was sent from there to make the foundation at Lisieux in 1838.  Her memory is held in benediction in both these convents; in the sight of God she constantly practised the most heroic virtue, and on December 5, 1891, crowned a life of good works by a holy death.  She was then eighty-six years of age.

[2] This house, an object of deep interest to the clients of Soeur Therese, is much frequented by pilgrims to Lisieux. [Ed.]

[3] This first confession was made in the beautiful church of St. Pierre, formerly the cathedral of Lisieux. [Ed.]

[4] It seems advisable, on account of the vague allusions which occur here and elsewhere, to state what happened to M. Louis Martin.  At the age of sixty-six, having already had several partial attacks, he was struck with general paralysis, and his mind gave way altogether.