iately put myself in communication with
the Archbishop of Villeroi. I opened my heart to this worthy prelate,
convinced him of my sincerity, and gained from him a promise that he
would get me admitted among the Carmelite nuns of Lyons. One thing I
begged of him at parting, which was, that he would tell the whole truth
about my former life and about the profession that I had exercised in
the world. I was resolved to deceive nobody, and to enter no convent
under false pretences of any sort.

My wishes were scrupulously fulfilled; and the nuns were dreadfully
frightened when they heard that I had been an actress at Paris. But the
Archbishop promising to answer for me, and to take all their scruples
on his own conscience, they consented to receive me. I could not trust
myself to take formal leave of the nuns of Anticaille, who had been
so kind to me, and towards whom I felt so gratefully. So I wrote my
farewell to them after privately leaving their house, telling them
frankly the motives which animated me, and asking their pardon for
separating myself from them in secret.

On the fourteenth of October, seventeen hundred and twenty-four, I
entered the Carmelite convent at Lyons, eighteen months after my flight
from the world, and my abandonment of my profession--to adopt which, I
may say, in my own defence, that I was first led through sheer poverty.
At the age of seventeen years, and possessing (if I may credit report)
remarkable personal charms, I was left perfectly destitute through the
spendthrift habits of my father. I was easily persuaded to go on the
stage, and soon tempted, with my youth and inexperience, to lead an
irregular life. I do not wish to assert that dissipation necessarily
follows the choice of the actress's profession, for I have known many
estimable women on the stage. I, unhappily, was not one of the number. I
confess it to my shame, and, as the chief of sinners, I am only the more
grateful to the mercy of Heaven which accomplished my conversion.

When I entered the convent, I entreated the prioress to let me live in
perfect obscurity, without corresponding with my friends, or even with
my relations. She declined to grant this last request, thinking that
my zeal was leading me too far. On the other hand, she complied with
my wish to be employed at once, without the slightest preparatory
indulgence or consideration, on any menial labour which the discipline
of the convent might require from me. On the