at such an early age that it
was necessary I should suffer from my childhood. As the early
spring flowers begin to come up under the snow and open at the
first rays of the sun, so the Little Flower whose story I am
writing had to pass through the winter of trial and to have her
tender cup filled with the dew of tears.
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[1] Ps. 88[89]:1.

[2] This statue twice appeared as if endowed with life, in order
to enlighten and console Mme. Martin, mother of Therese. A like
favour was granted to Therese herself, as will be seen in the
course of the narrative.

[3] Mark 3:13.

[4] Cf. Exodus 33:19.

[5] Cf. Rom. 9:16.

[6] Cf. Ps. 22[23]:1-4.

[7] Ps. 102[103]:8.

[8] The custom still prevails in some parts of France of blessing
bread at the Offertory of the Mass and then distributing it to the
faithful. It is known as _pain benit._ This blessing only takes
place at the Parochial Mass. [Ed.]

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CHAPTER II
A CATHOLIC HOUSEHOLD

All the details of my Mother's illness are still fresh in my mind.
I remember especially her last weeks on earth, when Celine and I
felt like poor little exiles. Every morning a friend came to fetch
us, and we spent the day with her. Once, we had not had time to
say our prayers before starting, and on the way my little sister
whispered: "Must we tell her that we have not said our prayers?"
"Yes," I answered. So, very timidly, Celine confided our secret to
her, and she exclaimed: "Well, well, children, you shall say
them." Then she took us to a large room, and left us there. Celine
looked at me in amazement. I was equally astonished, and
exclaimed: "This is not like Mamma, she always said our prayers
with us." During the day, in spite of all efforts to amuse us, the
thought of our dear Mother was constantly in our minds. I remember
once, when my sister had an apricot given to her, she leant
towards me and said: "We will not eat it, I will give it to
Mamma." Alas! our beloved Mother was now too ill to eat any
earthly fruit; she would never more be satisfied but by the glory
of Heaven. There she would drink of the mysterious wine which
Jesus, at His Last Supper, promised to share with us in the
Kingdom of His Father.

The touching ceremony of Extreme Unction made a deep impression on
me. I can still see the place where I knelt, and hear my poor
Father's sobs.

My dear Mother died on August 28, 1877, in her forty-sixth year.
The