little white bantams, we can't be separated from one another.'"

It is quite true that I could not be separated from Céline; I
would rather leave my dessert unfinished at table than let her go
without me, and I would get down from my high chair when she did,
and off we went to play together. On Sundays, as I was still too
small to go to the long services, Mamma stayed at home to take
care of me. I was always very good, walking about on tip-toe; but
as soon as I heard the door open there was a tremendous outburst
of joy--I threw myself on my dear little sister, exclaiming: "Oh,
Céline! give me the blessed bread, quick!"[8] One day she had not
brought any--what was to be done? I could not do without it, for I
called this little feast my Mass. A bright idea struck me: "You
have no blessed bread! --make some." Céline immediately opened the
cupboard, took out the bread, cut a tiny bit off, and after saying
a Hail Mary quite solemnly over it, triumphantly presented it to
me; and I, making the sign of the Cross, ate it with devotion,
fancying it tasted exactly like the real blessed bread.

One day Léonie, thinking no doubt that she was too big to play
with dolls, brought us a basket filled with clothes, pretty pieces
of stuff, and other trifles on which her doll was laid: "Here,
dears," she said, "choose whatever you like." Céline looked at it,
and took a woollen ball. After thinking about it for a minute, I
put out my hand saying: "I choose everything," and I carried off
both doll and basket without more ado.

This childish incident was a forecast, so to speak, of my whole
life. Later on, when the way of perfection was opened out before
me, I realised that in order to become a Saint one must suffer