beloved of God, and so, dear Mother, you can understand what light
and consolation succeeded this gloom.

The following Sunday I asked her whether she had received any
revelation about me, but she assured me that she had not, and this
only made me admire her the more, for it showed how intimately
Jesus lived in her soul and directed her words and actions. Such
holiness seems to me the most true, the most holy; it is the
holiness I desire, for it is free from all illusion.

On the day when this revered Mother ended her exile, I received a
very special grace. It was the first time I had assisted at a
death-bed, yet though the sight enchanted me by its beauty, my two
hours of watching had made me very drowsy. I was grieved at this,
but, at the moment her soul took its flight to Heaven, my feelings
were completely changed. In an instant I was filled with an
indescribable joy and fervour, as if the soul of our blessed
Foundress made me share in the happiness she already enjoyed--for
I am quite convinced she went straight to Heaven. I had said to
her some time previously: "You will not go to Purgatory, dear
Mother." "I hope not," she answered sweetly. Certainly God would
not disappoint a hope so full of humility; and the proof that He
did not, lies in the many favours we have received.

The Sisters hastened to claim something belonging to our beloved
Mother, and you know what a precious relic is mine. During her
agony I had noticed a tear glistening like a beautiful diamond.
That tear, the last she shed on this earth, did not fall, I still
saw it shining when her body was exposed in the choir. When
evening came, I made bold to approach unseen, with a little piece
of linen, and I now have the happiness of possessing the last tear
of a Saint.

I attach no importance to my dreams, and indeed, they seldom have
any special meaning, though I do often wonder how it is that, as I
think of God all the day, my mind does not dwell on Him more in my
sleep. Generally I dream of the woods and the flowers, the brooks
and the sea, and nearly always of pretty children; or I chase
birds and butterflies such as I have never seen. But, if my dreams
are sometimes poetical, they are never mystical.

However, one night after Mother Genevieve's death, I had a more
consoling one. I thought I saw her giving to each of us something
that had belonged to herself. When my turn came, her hands were
empty, and I was afraid I was not to receive anyt