h, dear Mother, you know who taught me to sing from the days of
my earliest childhood! You know the voices which drew me on. And
now I trust that one day, in spite of my weakness, I may sing for
ever the Canticle of Love, the harmonious notes of which I have
often heard sweetly sounding here below.

But where am I? These thoughts have carried me too far, and I must
resume the history of my vocation.

On October 31, 1887, alone with Papa, I started for Bayeux, my
heart full of hope, but also excited at the idea of presenting
myself at the Bishop's house. For the first time in my life, I was
going to pay a visit without any of my sisters, and this to a
Bishop. I, who had never yet had to speak except to answer
questions addressed to me, would have to explain and enlarge on my
reasons for begging to enter the Carmel, and so give proofs of the
genuineness of my vocation.

It cost me a great effort to overcome my shyness sufficiently to
do this. But it is true that Love knows no such word as
"impossible," for it deems "all things possible, all things
allowed." Nothing whatsoever but the love of Jesus could have made
me face these difficulties and others which followed, for I had to
purchase my happiness by heavy trials. Now, it is true, I think I
bought it very cheaply, and I would willingly bear a thousand
times more bitter suffering to gain it, if it were not already
mine.

When we reached the Bishop's house, the floodgates of Heaven
seemed open once more. The Vicar-General, Father Reverony, who had
settled the date of our coming, received us very kindly, though he
looked a little surprised, and seeing tears in my eyes said:
"Those diamonds must not be shown to His Lordship!" We were led
through large reception-rooms which made me feel how small I was,
and I wondered what I should dare say. The Bishop was walking in a
corridor with two Priests. I saw the Vicar-General speak a few
words to him, then they came into the room where we were waiting.
There were three large armchairs in front of the fireplace, where
a bright fire blazed.

As his Lordship entered, my Father and I knelt for his blessing;
then he made us sit down. Father Reverony offered me the armchair
in the middle. I excused myself politely, but he insisted, telling
me to show if I knew how to obey. I did so without any more
hesitation, and was mortified to see him take an ordinary chair
while I was buried in an enormous seat that would comfortably have