she well knew, was difficult to please, and her generous proposal
was accepted. One day, when she had suffered much from this
Sister, a novice asked her why she looked so happy. Great was her
surprise on receiving the reply: "It is because Sister N. has just
been saying disagreeable things to me. What pleasure she has given
me! I wish I could meet her now, and give her a sweet smile." . .
. As she was still speaking, the Sister in question knocked at the
door, and the astonished novice could see for herself how the
Saints forgive. Soeur Therese acknowledged later on, she "soared
so high above earthly things that humiliations did but make her
stronger."

To all these virtues she joined a wonderful courage. From her
entrance into the Carmel, at the age of fifteen, she was allowed
to follow all the practices of its austere Rule, the fasts alone
excepted. Sometimes her companions in the noviciate, seeing how
pale she looked, tried to obtain a dispensation for her, either
from the Night Office, or from rising at the usual hour in the
morning, but the Mother Prioress would never yield to these
requests. "A soul of such mettle," she would say, "ought not to be
dealt with as a child; dispensations are not meant for her. Let
her be, for God sustains her. Besides, if she is really ill, she
should come and tell me herself."[2]

But it was always a principle with Therese that "We should go to
the end of our strength before we complain." How many times did
she assist at Matins suffering from vertigo or violent headaches!
"I am able to walk," she would say, "and so I ought to be at my
duty." And, thanks to this undaunted energy, she performed acts
that were heroic.

It was with difficulty that her delicate stomach accustomed itself
to the frugal fare of the Carmel. Certain things made her ill, but
she knew so well how to hide this, that no one ever suspected it.
Her neighbour at table said that she had tried in vain to discover
the dishes that she preferred, and the kitchen Sisters, finding
her so easy to please, invariably served her with what was left.
It was only during her last illness, when she was ordered to say
what disagreed with her, that her mortifications came to light.
"When Jesus wishes us to suffer," she said at that time, "there
can be no evading it. And so, when Sister Mary of the Sacred
Heart[3] was procuratrix, she endeavoured to look after me with a
mother's tenderness. To all appearances, I was well cared for