there she refuses to stay, and cries so much that they are obliged
to bring her back. She will not even go upstairs alone without
calling me at each step, 'Mamma! Mamma!' and if I forget to answer
'Yes, darling!' she waits where she is, and will not move."

I was nearly three years old when my Mother wrote: "Little Thérèse
asked me the other day if she would go to Heaven. 'Yes, if you are
good,' I told her. 'Oh, Mamma,' she answered, 'then if I am not
good, shall I go to Hell? Well, you know what I will do--I shall
fly to you in Heaven, and you will hold me tight in your arms, and
how could God take me away then?' I saw that she was convinced
that God could do nothing to her if she hid herself in my arms."

"Marie loves her little sister very much; indeed she is a child
who delights us all. She is extraordinarily outspoken, and it is
charming to see her run after me to confess her childish faults:
'Mamma, I have pushed Céline; I slapped her once, but I'll not do
it again.' The moment she has done anything mischievous, everyone
must know. Yesterday, without meaning to do so, she tore off a
small piece of wall paper; you would have been sorry for her--she
wanted to tell her father immediately. When he came home four
hours later, everyone else had forgotten about it, but she ran at
once to Marie saying: 'Tell Papa that I tore the paper.' She
waited there like a criminal for sentence; but she thinks she is
more easily forgiven if she accuses herself."

Papa's name fills me with many happy memories. Mamma laughingly
said he always did whatever I wanted, but he answered: "Well, why
not? She is the Queen!" Then he would lift me on to his shoulder,
and caress me in all sorts of ways. Yet I cannot say that he