whom many sins were forgiven because they loved
much. I love them too; I love their sorrow, and especially their
audacious love. When I see Mary Magdalen come forth before all
Simon's guests to wash with her tears her Master's Feet--those
Feet that for the first time she touches--I feel her heart has
fathomed that abyss of love and mercy, the Heart of Jesus; and I
feel, too, that not only was He willing to forgive, but even
liberally to dispense the favours of a Divine and intimate
friendship, and to raise her to the loftiest heights of prayer.

My Brother, since I also have been given to understand the Love of
the Heart of Jesus, I confess that all fear has been driven from
mine. The remembrance of my faults humbles me; and it helps me
never to rely upon my own strength--which is but weakness--but
more than all, it speaks to me of mercy and of love. When a soul
with childlike trust casts her faults into Love's all-devouring
furnace, how shall they escape being utterly consumed?

I know that many Saints have passed their lives in the practice of
amazing penance for the sake of expiating their sins. But what of
that? "In my Father's house there are many mansions."[4] These are
the words of Jesus, and therefore I follow the path He marks out
for me; I try to be nowise concerned about myself and what Jesus
deigns to accomplish in my soul.

VI

1897.

On this earth where everything changes, one thing alone does never
change--our Heavenly King's treatment of His friends. From the day
He raised the standard of the Cross, in its shadow all must fight
and win. "The life of every missionary abounds in crosses," said
Theophane Venard. And again: "True happiness consists in
suffering, and in order to live we must die."

Rejoice, my Brother, that the first efforts of your Apostolate are
stamped with the seal of the Cross. Far more by suffering and by
persecution than by eloquent discourses does Jesus wish to build
up His Kingdom.

You are still--you tell me--a little child who cannot speak.
Neither could Father Mazel, who was ordained with you, and yet he
has already won the palm . . . Far beyond our thoughts are the
thoughts of God! When I learnt that this young missionary had died
before he had set foot on the field of his labours, I felt myself
drawn to invoke him. I seemed to see him amidst the glorious
Martyr choir. No doubt, in the eyes of men he does not merit the
title of Martyr, but in the eyes of God this in