received at the age of nine,
and that I must wait till I was sixteen. In spite of my ardent
desire to enter with Pauline and make my First Communion on her
clothing day, I had to be resigned.

At last the 2nd of October came--a day of tears, but also of
blessings, when Our Lord gathered the first of His flowers, the
chosen flower who, later on, was to become the Mother of her
sisters.[3] Whilst Papa, with my uncle and Marie, climbed the
mountain of Carmel to offer his first sacrifice, my aunt took me
to Mass, with my sisters and cousins. We were bathed in tears, and
people gazed at us in astonishment when we entered the church, but
that did not stop our crying. I even wondered how the sun could go
on shining. Perhaps, dear Mother, you think I exaggerate my grief
a little. I confess that this parting ought not to have upset me
so much, but my soul was yet far from mature, and I had to pass
through many trials before reaching the haven of peace, before
tasting the delicious fruits of perfect love and of complete
abandonment to God's Will.

In the afternoon of that October day, 1882, behind the grating of
the Carmel, I saw my beloved Pauline, now become Sister Agnes of
Jesus. Oh, how much I suffered in that parlour! As I am writing
the story of my soul, it seems to me that I ought to tell you
everything. Well, I acknowledge that I hardly counted the first
pains of this parting, in comparison with those which followed. I,
who had been accustomed to talk with my little Mother of all that
was in my heart, could now scarcely snatch two or three minutes
with her at the end of the family visits; even these short minutes
were passed in tears, and I went away with my heart torn with
grief.

I did not realise that it was impossible to give us each half an
hour, and that of course Papa and Marie must have the largest
share. I could not understand all this, and I said from the depths
of my heart: "Pauline is lost to me."

This suffering so affected me that I soon became seriously ill.
The illness was undoubtedly the work of the devil, who, in his
fury at this first entry into the Carmel, tried to avenge himself
on me for the great harm my family was to do him in the future.
However, he little knew that the Queen of Heaven was watching
faithfully over her Little Flower, that she was smiling upon it
from on high, ready to still the tempest just when the delicate
and fragile stalk was in danger of being broken once and for all.