and looked at me in utter astonishment, then showed me--too
late--the surprise she had in store hidden under her apron--two
pieces of candle. My tears of anger were soon changed into tears
of sorrow; I was very much ashamed and grieved, and made a firm
resolution never to act in such a way again.

Shortly after this I made my first confession.[3] It is a very
sweet memory. Pauline had warned me: "Thérèse, darling, it is not
to a man but to God Himself that you are going to tell your sins."
I was so persuaded of this that I asked her quite seriously if I
should not tell Father Ducellier that I loved him "with my whole
heart," as it was really God I was going to speak to in his person.

Well instructed as to what I was to do, I entered the
confessional, and turning round to the priest, so as to see him
better, I made my confession and received absolution in a spirit
of lively faith--my sister having assured me that at this solemn
moment the tears of the Holy Child Jesus would purify my soul. I
remember well that he exhorted me above all to a tender devotion
towards Our Lady, and I promised to redouble my love for her who
already filled so large a place in my heart. Then I passed him my
Rosary to be blessed, and came out of the Confessional more joyful
and lighthearted than I had ever felt before. It was evening, and
as soon as I got to a street lamp I stopped and took the newly
blessed Rosary out of my pocket, turning it over and over. "What
are you looking at, Thérèse, dear?" asked Pauline. "I am seeing
what a blessed Rosary looks like." This childish answer amused my
sisters very much. I was deeply impressed by the graces I had
received, and wished to go to confession again for all the big
feasts, for these confessions filled me with joy. The feasts! What