after those which were no
longer in sight and so perhaps miss the train, or should I beg for
a seat in the carriage of Father Reverony? I decided that this was
the wiser plan.

I tried to hide my extreme embarrassment and explained things. He
was placed in a difficulty himself, for all the seats were
occupied, but one of the party promptly gave me his place and sat
by the driver. I felt like a squirrel caught in a snare. I was ill
at ease in the midst of these great people, and I had to sit face
to face with the most formidable of all. He was exceedingly kind,
however, and now and then interrupted his conversation to talk to
me about the Carmel and promise that he would do all in his power
to realise my desire of entering at fifteen. This meeting was like
balm to my wounds, though it did not prevent me from suffering. I
had now lost all trust in creatures and could only lean on God
Himself.

And yet my distress did not hinder me from taking a deep interest
in the holy places we visited. In Florence we saw the shrine of
St. Mary Magdalen of Pazzi, in the choir of the Carmelite Church.
All the pilgrims wanted to touch the Saint's tomb with their
Rosaries, but my hand was the only one small enough to pass
through the grating. So I was deputed for this important and
lengthy task, and I did it with pride.

It was not the first time I had obtained special favours. One day,
at _Santa Croce,_ in Rome, we venerated the relics of the True
Cross, together with two of the Thorns, and one of the Sacred
Nails. I wanted to examine them closely, so I remained behind, and
when the monk in charge was going to replace them on the Altar, I
asked if I might touch the precious treasures. He said I might do
so, but was doubtful if I should succeed; however, I put my little
finger into one of the openings of the reliquary and was able to
touch the Sacred Nail once hallowed by the Blood of Our Saviour.
You see I behaved towards Him like a child who thinks it may do as
it pleases and looks on its Father's treasures as its own.

Having passed through Pisa and Genoa we came back to France by one
of the loveliest routes. At times we were close to the sea, and
one day during a storm it seemed as though the waves would reach
the train. Farther on we travelled through plains covered with
orange trees, olives, and feathery palms, while at night the
numerous seaports twinkled with lights, and stars came out in the
deep blue sky. But I watched the