ho, at life's close, tries every ruse to sow the
seeds of despair in the hearts of the dying.

"Last night I was seized with a terrible feeling of anguish," she
confessed to Mother Agnes of Jesus on one occasion; "I was lost in
darkness, and from out of it came an accursed voice: 'Are you
certain God loves you? Has He Himself told you so? The opinion of
creatures will not justify you in His sight.' These thoughts had
long tortured me, when your little note, like a message from
Heaven, was brought to me. You recalled to me, dear Mother, the
special graces Jesus had lavished upon me, and, as though you had
had a revelation concerning my trial, you assured me I was deeply
loved by God, and was on the eve of receiving from His Hands my
eternal crown. Immediately peace and joy were restored to my
heart. Yet the thought came to me, 'It is my little Mother's
affection that makes her write these words.' Straightway I felt
inspired to take up the Gospels, and, opening the book at random,
I lighted on a passage which had hitherto escaped me: 'He whom God
hath sent speaketh the Words of God, for God doth not give the
Spirit by measure.'[7] Then I fell asleep fully consoled. It was
you, dear Mother, whom the Good God sent me, and I must believe
you, because you speak the Words of God."

For several days, during the month of August, Therese remained, so
to speak, beside herself, and implored that prayers might be
offered for her. She had never before been seen in this state, and
in her inexpressible anguish she kept repeating: "Oh! how
necessary it is to pray for the agonising! If one only knew!"

One night she entreated the Infirmarian to sprinkle her bed with
Holy Water, saying: "I am besieged by the devil. I do not see him,
but I feel him; he torments me and holds me with a grip of iron,
that I may not find one crumb of comfort; he augments my woes,
that I may be driven to despair. . . . And I cannot pray. I can
only look at Our Blessed Lady and say: 'Jesus!' How needful is
that prayer we use at Compline: 'Procul recedant somnia et noctium
phantasmata!' ('Free us from the phantoms of the night.')
Something mysterious is happening within me. I am not suffering
for myself, but for some other soul, and satan is angry." The
Infirmarian, startled, lighted a blessed candle, and the spirit of
darkness fled, never to return; but the sufferer remained to the
end in a state of extreme anguish.

One day, while she was contemplating th