ferred on me (not from a desire
to conceal them, but because the Lord did not permit me to do it, as He
had over me only the designs of death) he therefore spoke to such as he
looked upon to be more advanced in grace. He let me alone as one for
whom there was nothing to be done. So well did God hide from him the
situation of my soul, in order to make me suffer, that he wanted to
refer me, thinking that I had not the spirit of prayer, and that Mrs.
Granger was mistaken when she told him I had. I did what I could to
obey him, but it was entirely impossible. On this account I was
displeased with myself, because I believed M. Bertot rather than my
experience. Through this whole retreat my inclination, which I
discerned only by my resistance to it, was to rest in silence and
nakedness of thought. In the settling of my mind therein I feared I was
disobeying the orders of my director. This made me think that I had
fallen from grace. I kept myself in a state of nothingness, content
with my poor low degree of prayer, without envying the higher degree of
others, of which I judged myself unworthy. I would have, however,
desired much to do the will of God, and to please Him, but despaired
altogether of ever attaining that desirable end.

There was in the place where I lived, and had been for some years, one
whose doctrine was suspected. He possessed a dignity in the church,
which always obliged me to have a deference for him. As he understood
how averse I was to all who were suspected of unsoundness in the faith,
and knowing that I had some credit in the place, he used his utmost
efforts to engage me in his sentiments. I answered him with so much
clearness and energy, that he had not a word to reply. This increased
his desire to win me in order to do it, to contract a friendship for
me. He continued to importune me for two years and a half. As he was
very polite, and of an obliging temper, and had a good share of
learning, I did not mistrust him. I even conceived a hope of his
conversion, in which I found myself mistaken. I then ceased going near
him. He came to inquire why he could see me no more. At that time he
was so agreeable to my sick husband, in his assiduities about him, that
I could not avoid him though I thought the shortest and best way for me
would be break off all acquaintance with him, which I did after the
death of my husband. M. Bertot would not permit me to do it before.
When he now saw that he could not renew it,