merry laughter.

"There," she said, "from this onwards I permit you to cry as much
as you like on condition that it is into the shell!"

A week, however, before her death I spent a whole evening in tears
at the thought of her fast-approaching end. She knew it, and said:
"You have been crying. Was it into the shell?" I was unable to
tell an untruth, and my answer grieved her. "I am going to die,"
she continued, "and I shall not be at rest about you unless you
promise to follow faithfully my advice. I consider it of the
utmost importance for the good of your soul."

I promised what she asked, begging leave, however, as a favour, to
be allowed to cry at her death. "But," she answered, "why cry at
my death? Those tears will certainly be useless. You will be
bewailing my happiness! Still I have pity on your weakness, and
for the first few days you have leave to cry, though afterwards
you must again take up the shell."

It has cost me some heroic efforts, but I have been faithful. I
have kept the shell at hand, and each time the wish to cry
overcame me, I laid hold of the pitiless thing. However urgent the
tears, the trouble of passing it from one eye to the other so
distracted my thoughts, that before very long this ingenious
method entirely cured me of my sensibility.

* * * * * *

Owing to a fault which had caused Soeur Thérèse much pain, but of