learning to talk, and Mamma
asked: "What are you thinking about?" my answer invariably was:
"Pauline." Sometimes I heard people saying that Pauline would be a
nun, and, without quite knowing what it meant, I thought: "I will
be a nun too." This is one of my first recollections, and I have
never changed my mind; so it was the example of this beloved
sister which, from the age of two, drew me to the Divine Spouse of
Virgins. My dearest Mother, what tender memories of Pauline I
could confide to you here! But it would take me too long.

Leonie had also a very warm place in my heart; she loved me very
much, and her love was returned. In the evening when she came home
from school she used to take care of me while the others went out,
and it seems to me I can still hear the sweet songs she sang to
put me to sleep. I remember perfectly the day of her First
Communion, and I remember also her companion, the poor child whom
my Mother dressed, according to the touching custom of the
well-to-do families in Alencon. This child did not leave Leonie
for an instant on that happy day, and in the evening at the grand
dinner she sat in the place of honour. Alas! I was too small to
stay up for this feast, but I shared in it a little, thanks to
Papa's goodness, for he came himself to bring his little Queen a
piece of the iced cake.

The only one now left to speak of is Celine, the companion of my
childhood. My memories of her are so many that I do not know which
to choose. We understood each other perfectly, but I was much more
forward and lively, and far less ingenuous. Here is a letter which
will show you, dear Mother, how sweet was Celine, and how naughty
Therese. I was then nearly three years old, and Celine six and a
half. "Celine is naturally inclined to be good; as to the little
puss, Therese, one cannot tell how she will turn out, she is so
young and heedless. She is a very intelligent child, but has not
nearly so sweet a disposition as her sister, and her stubbornness
is almost unconquerable. When she has said 'No,' nothing will make
her change; one could leave her all day in the cellar without
getting her to say 'Yes.' She would sooner sleep there."

I had another fault also, of which my Mother did not speak in her
letters: it was self-love. Here are two instances:--One day, no
doubt wishing to see how far my pride would go, she smiled and
said to me, "Therese, if you will kiss the ground I will give you
a halfpenny." In those