offer it to Him."
That something better was himself, "and God received him as a
victim of holocaust; He tried him as gold in the furnace, and
found him worthy of Himself."[6]

After the ceremony in the Chapel I re-entered the Convent and the
Bishop intoned the _Te Deum._ One of the Priests observed to him
that this hymn of thanksgiving was only sung at professions, but,
once begun, it was continued to the end. Was it not right that
this feast should be complete, since in it all other joyful days
were reunited?

The instant I set foot in the enclosure again my eyes fell on the
statue of the Child Jesus smiling on me amid the flowers and
lights; then, turning towards the quadrangle, I saw that, in spite
of the mildness of the weather, it was covered with snow. What a
delicate attention on the part of Jesus! Gratifying the least wish
of His little Spouse, He even sent her this. Where is the creature
so mighty that he can make one flake of it fall to please his
beloved?

Everyone was amazed, and since then many people, hearing of my
desire, have described this event as "the little miracle" of my
clothing day, and thought it strange I should be so fond of snow.
So much the better, it shows still more the wonderful
condescension of the Spouse of Virgins--of Him Who loves lilies
white as the snow. After the ceremony the Bishop entered. He gave
me many proofs of his fatherly tenderness, and, in presence of all
the Priests, spoke of my visit to Bayeux and the journey to Rome;
nor did he forget to tell them how I had put up my hair before
visiting him. Then, laying his hand on my head, he blessed me
affectionately. My mind dwelt with ineffable sweetness on the
caresses Our Lord will soon lavish upon me before all the Saints,
and this consoling thought was a foretaste of Heaven. I have just
said that January 10 was a day of triumph for my dear Father. I
liken it to the feast of the entry of Christ into Jerusalem, on
Palm Sunday. As in the case of Our Divine Master, his day of
triumph was followed by long days of sorrow; and, even as the
agony of Jesus pierced the heart of His divine Mother, so our
hearts were deeply wounded by the humiliations and sufferings of
him, whom we loved best on earth. . . . I remember that in the
month of June 1888, when we were fearing another stroke of
paralysis, I surprised our Novice Mistress by saying: "I am
suffering a great deal, Mother, yet I feel I can suffer still
more." I did not then