ed to open its heart to any other but Jesus, there would no
longer be room for this Beloved.

What happiness to be so entirely hidden that no one gives us a
thought--to be unknown even to those with whom we live! My little
Mother, I long to be unknown to everyone of God's creatures! I
have never desired glory amongst men, and if their contempt used
to attract my heart, I have realized that even this is too
glorious for me, and I thirst to be forgotten.

The Glory of Jesus--this is my sole ambition. I abandon my glory
to Him; and if He seem to forget me, well, He is free to do so
since I am no longer my own, but His. He will weary sooner of
making me wait than I shall of waiting.

VIII

[One day when Soeur Therese was suffering acutely from
feverishness, one of the Sisters urged her to help in a difficult
piece of painting. For a moment Therese's countenance betrayed an
inward struggle, which did not escape the notice of Mother Agnes
of Jesus. That same evening Therese wrote her the following
letter.]

May 28, 1897.

MY DEAREST MOTHER,--I have just been shedding sweet tears--tears
of repentance, but still more of thankfulness and love. To-day I
showed you the treasure of my patience, and how virtuous I am--I
who preach so well to others! I am glad that you have seen my want
of perfection. You did not scold me, and yet I deserved it. But at
all times your gentleness speaks to me more forcibly than would
severe words. To me you are the image of God's Mercy.

Sister N., on the contrary, is more often the image of God's
severity. Well, I have just met her, and, instead of passing me
coldly by, she embraced me and said: "Poor little Sister, I am so
sorry . . . I do not want to tire you; it was wrong of me to ask
your help; leave the work alone." In my heart I felt perfect
sorrow, and I was much surprised to escape all blame. I know she
must really deem me imperfect. She spoke in this way because she
thinks I am soon to die. However that may be, I have heard nothing
but kind and tender words from her; and so I consider her most
kind, and myself an unamiable creatures.

When I returned to our cell, I was wondering what Jesus thought,
when all at once I remembered His words to the woman taken in
adultery: "Hath no man condemned thee?"[2] With tears in my eyes,
I answered Him: "No one, Lord, . . . neither my little Mother--the
image of Thy Mercy--nor Sister N., the image of Thy Justice. I
feel that I can go in peac