he question: "If
you go, what will become of my soul? Should you not desire to lead me to
your faith? I will not yet allow myself to be led." No, I cannot, I must
not write all. How can I write the meaning of a glance, the accent of
a word, commonplace in itself? They are not such glances as drove
St. Jerome to plunge into icy water, or at least my emotion does not
resemble his. Icy water is of no avail against a glance which is all
sweet purity. Only fire can prevail against it, the fire of the Supreme
Love! Ah! who will free me from my mortal heart, whose faintest throb
thrills all the fibres of my body? Who will set free the immortal heart
which is within it, like the germ of a fruit, preparing for itself a
celestial body? I cannot, I must not write all, but this, indeed, I will
write: The Lord seeks to ensnare me, to entrap me! When I shall have
fallen, He will deride me! Why did it happen that I wrote the Latin
quotation about those who live and do penance between the Dead Sea and
the desert, _"Sine pecunia, sine ulla femina, omni venere abdicata socia
palmarum_," on that piece of paper, which on the other side bore words
from J. D., words still hot concerning my past sin and hers, words
reminding me of the most terrible moments? How did a person so timid
dare to force a secret communication upon me?

The wind has blown my window open. Oh! Anio, Anio! will you never tire
of your commanding? I must start now, at once? Impossible, the doors
are locked. Moreover, it would be shame to leave thus. I should be
dishonouring God; they would say "what ungrateful, what mad servants has
the Lord!" Come, spirit of my master, come, come! Speak to me; I will
listen. What have you to say to me? What have you to say to me? Ah! you
smile at my tempest; you tell me to leave, yes, but to leave honourably,
to announce that the Lord Himself commands my departure. You tell me
to obey the voice of God in the Anio. Now the wind is ceasing; as if
satisfied, it seems to be growing quiet. Yes, yes, yes, with tears!
To-morrow, to-morrow morning! I will announce it. And I know to whom I
shall go in Rome. Oh! light, oh! peace, oh! springs burst forth again
in my soul: oh! dead sea, swelling with a wave of warmth! Yes, yes,
yes, with tears! I return thanks! I return thanks! Glory be to Thee, our
Father which art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name, Thy kingdom come: Thy
will be done!

CHAPTER VII. IN THE WHIRLPOOL OF THE WORLD

It was alrea