o make nothing
known, but the evil which was in me. Therefore Monsieur Bertot knew me
not, even till his death. This was of great utility to me, by taking
away every support, and making me truly die to myself.

I went to pass the ten days, from the Ascension to Whitsuntide, at an
abbey four leagues from Paris, the abbess of which had a particular
friendship for me. Here my union with God seemed to be deeper and more
continued, becoming always simple, at the same time more close and
intimate.

One day I awoke suddenly at four o'clock in the morning, with a strong
impression on my mind that my father was dead. At the same time my soul
was in a very great contentment, yet my love for him affected it with
sorrow, and my body with weakness. Under the strokes and daily troubles
which befell me, my will was so subservient to Thine, O my God, that it
appeared absolutely united to it. There seemed, indeed, to be no will
left in me but Thine only. My own disappeared, and no desires,
tendencies or inclinations were left, but to the one sole object of
whatever was most pleasing to Thee, be it what it would. If I had a
will, it was in union with thine, as two well tuned lutes in concert.
That which is not touched renders the same sound as that which is
touched; it is but one and the same sound, one pure harmony. It is this
union of the will which establishes in perfect peace. Yet, though my
own will was lost I have found since, in the strange states I have been
obliged to pass through, how much it had yet to cost me to have it
totally lost. How many souls are there which think their own wills
quite lost, while they are yet very far from it! They would find they
still subsist, if they met with severe trials. Who is there who does
not wish something for himself, either of interest, wealth, honor,
pleasure, conveniency and liberty. He who thinks his mind loose from
all these objects, because he possesses them, would soon perceive his
attachment to them, were he stripped of those he possessed. If there
are found in a whole age three persons so dead to everything, as to be
utterly resigned to providence without any exception, they may well
pass for prodigies of grace.

In the afternoon as I was with the abbess, I told her I had strong
presentiments of my father's death. Indeed I could hardly speak, I was
so affected within. Presently one came to tell her that she was wanted
in the parlor. It was a messenger come in haste, with an acco