Without any merit on my part!  That was not difficult to believe.  Fully conscious of my weakness and imperfection, my heart overflowed with gratitude.  I had distressed myself, fearing I might have stained my baptismal robe, and this assurance, coming as it did from the lips of a director, a man of wisdom and holiness, such as our Mother St. Teresa desired, seemed to come from God Himself.  Father Pichon added:  “May Our Lord always be your Superior and your Novice Master!” And indeed He ever was, and likewise my Director.  In saying this I do not mean to imply that I was not communicative with my superiors; far from being reserved, I always tried to be as an open book.

Our Mistress was a true saint, the perfect type of the first Carmelites, and I seldom left her side, for she had to teach me how to work.  Her kindness was beyond words, I loved and appreciated her, and yet my soul did not expand.  I could not explain myself, words failed me, and so the time of spiritual direction became a veritable martyrdom.

One of the older nuns seemed to understand what I felt, for she once said to me during recreation:  “I should think, child, you have not much to tell your superiors.”  “Why do you think that, dear Mother?” I asked.  “Because your soul is very simple; but when you are perfect you will become more simple still.  The nearer one approaches God, the simpler one becomes.”

This good Mother was right.  Nevertheless the great difficulty I found in opening my heart, though it came from simplicity, was a genuine trial.  Now, however, without having lost my simplicity, I am able to express my thoughts with the greatest ease.

I have already said that Our Lord Himself had acted as my Spiritual Guide.  Hardly had Father Pichon become my director when his Superiors sent him to Canada.  I was only able to hear from him once in the year, so now the Little Flower which had been transplanted to the mountain of Carmel quickly turned to the Director of Directors, and unfolded itself under the shadow of His Cross, having for refreshing dew His Tears, His Precious Blood, and for radiant sun His Adorable Face.

Until then I had not appreciated the beauties of the Holy Face; it was my dear Mother, Agnes of Jesus, who unveiled them to me.  As she had been the first of her sisters to enter the Carmel, so she was the first to penetrate the mysteries of love hidden in the Face of Our Divine Spouse.  Then she showed them to me and I understood better than ever, in what true glory consists.  He whose “Kingdom is not of this world"[2] taught me that the only royalty to be coveted lies in being “unknown and esteemed as naught,"[3] and in the joy of self-abasement.  And I wished that my face, like the Face of Jesus, “should be, as it were, hidden and despised,"[4] so that no one on earth should esteem me.  I thirsted to suffer and to be forgotten.

Most merciful has been the way by which the Divine Master has ever led me.  He has never inspired me with any desire and left it unsatisfied, and that is why I have always found His bitter chalice full of sweetness.