Above all I endeavoured to practise little hidden acts of virtue; thus I took pleasure in folding the mantles forgotten by the Sisters, and I sought for every possible occasion of helping them.  One of God’s gifts was a great attraction towards penance, but I was not permitted to satisfy it; the only mortification allowed me consisted in mortifying my self-love, and this did me far more good than bodily penance would have done.

However, Our Lady helped me with my wedding-dress, and, as soon as it was finished, every obstacle vanished and my profession was fixed for September 8, 1890.

All that I have set down in these few words would take many pages to relate; but those pages will never be read on earth. . . . ______________________________

[1] Nuns, in the spirit of poverty, avoid using the word my, as denoting private possessions; so, later on, “our lamp,” “our handkerchief,” will occur. [Ed.]

[2] John 18:36.

[3] Imit., I, ii. 3.

[4] Is. 53:3.

[5] Leonie, having entered an order too severe for her delicate health, had been obliged to return home to her Father.  Later she became a Visitation nun at Caen, and took the name of Sister Frances Teresa.

[6] Cf.  Wisdom 3:5,6.

[7] Ps. 89[90]:15.

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CHAPTER VIII PROFESSION OF SOEUR THERESE

Need I tell you, dear Mother, about the retreat before my profession?  Far from receiving consolation, I went through it in a state of utter dryness and as if abandoned by God.  Jesus, as was His wont, slept in my little barque.  How rarely do souls suffer Him to sleep in peace!  This Good Master is so wearied with continually making fresh advances that He eagerly avails Himself of the repose I offer Him, and, no doubt, He will sleep on until my great and everlasting retreat; but, instead of being grieved at this, I am glad.

In truth I am no Saint, as this frame of mind well shows.  I ought not to rejoice in my dryness of soul, but rather attribute it to my want of fervour and fidelity.  That I fall asleep so often during meditation, and thanksgiving after Communion, should distress me.  Well, I am not distressed.  I reflect that little children are equally dear to their parents whether they are asleep or awake; that, in order to perform operations, doctors put their patients to sleep; and finally that “The Lord knoweth our frame, He remembereth that we are but dust."[1] Yet, apparently barren as was my retreat—­and those which followed have been no less so—­I unconsciously received many interior lights on the best means of pleasing God, and practising virtue.  I have often observed that Our Lord will not give me any store of provisions, but nourishes me each moment with food that is ever new; I find it within me without knowing how it has come there.  I simply believe that it is Jesus Himself hidden in my poor heart, who is secretly at work, inspiring me with what He wishes me to do as each occasion arises.