When my sufferings grew less, my great delight was to weave garlands of daisies and forget-me-nots for Our Lady’s statue.  We were in the beautiful month of May, when all nature is clothed with the flowers of spring; the Little Flower alone drooped, and seemed as though it had withered for ever.  Yet she too had a shining sun, the miraculous statue of the Queen of Heaven.  How often did not the Little Flower turn towards this glorious Sun!

One day Papa came into my room in the deepest distress, and I watched him go up to Marie and give her some money, bidding her write to Paris, and have a novena of Masses said at the shrine of Our Lady of Victories,[6] to obtain the cure of his poor little Queen.  How touching were his faith and love!  How much I longed to get up and tell him I was cured!  Alas! my wishes could not work a miracle, and it needed one to restore me to health.  Yes, it needed a great miracle, and this was wrought by Our Lady of Victories herself.

One Sunday, during the novena, Marie went into the garden, leaving me with Leonie, who was reading by the window.  After a short time I began to call:  “Marie!  Marie!” very softly.  Leonie, accustomed to hear me fret like this, took no notice, so I called louder, until Marie came back to me.  I saw her come into the room quite well, but, for the first time, I failed to recognise her.  I looked all round and glanced anxiously into the garden, still calling:  “Marie!  Marie!” Her anguish was perhaps greater than mine, and that was unutterable.  At last, after many fruitless efforts to make me recognise her, she whispered a few words to Leonie, and went away pale and trembling.  Leonie presently carried me to the window.  There I saw the garden, and Marie walking up and down, but still I did not recognise her; she came forward, smiling, and held out her arms to me calling tenderly:  “Therese, dear little Therese!” This last effort failing, she came in again and knelt in tears at the foot of my bed; turning towards the statue of Our Lady, she entreated her with the fervour of a mother who begs the life of her child and will not be refused.  Leonie and Celine joined her, and that cry of faith forced the gates of Heaven.  I too, finding no help on earth and nearly dead with pain, turned to my Heavenly Mother, begging her from the bottom of my heart to have pity on me.  Suddenly the statue seemed to come to life and grow beautiful, with a divine beauty that I shall never find words to describe.  The expression of Our Lady’s face was ineffably sweet, tender, and compassionate; but what touched me to the very depths of my soul was her gracious smile.  Then, all my pain vanished, two big tears started to my eyes and fell silently. . . .

They were indeed tears of unmixed heavenly joy.  “Our Blessed Lady has come to me, she has smiled at me.  How happy I am, but I shall tell no one, or my happiness will leave me!” Such were my thoughts.  Looking around, I recognised Marie; she seemed very much overcome, and looked lovingly at me, as though she guessed that I had just received a great grace.