consoled me immediately, and though I was only six years old at
the time, I said to myself: "I will pray for my poor old man on
the day of my First Communion." Five years later I faithfully kept
my resolution. I have always thought that my childish prayer for
this suffering member of Christ has been blessed and rewarded.

As I grew older my love of God grew more and more. I often offered
my heart to Him, using the words my Mother had taught me, and I
tried very hard to please Him in all my actions, taking great care
never to offend Him. And yet one day I committed a fault which I
must tell you here--it gives me a good opportunity of humbling
myself, though I believe I have grieved over it with perfect
contrition.

It was the month of May, 1878. My sisters decided that I was too
small to go to the May devotions every evening, so I stayed at
home with the nurse and said my prayers with her before the little
altar which I had arranged according to my own taste. Everything
was small--candlesticks, vases, and the rest; two wax vestas were
quite sufficient to light it up properly. Sometimes Victoire, the
maid, gave me some little bits of real candle, but not often.

One evening, when we went to our prayers, I said to her: "Will you
begin the _Memorare?_ I am going to light the candles." She tried
to begin, and then looked at me and burst out laughing. Seeing my
precious vestas burning quickly away, I begged her once more to
say the _Memorare._ Again there was silence, broken only by bursts
of laughter. All my natural good temper deserted me. I got up
feeling dreadfully angry, and, stamping my foot furiously, I cried
out: "Victoire, you naughty girl!" She stopped laughing at once,