his words.

This first day was much more interesting than those which succeeded
it. Godefroid, who found himself set aside from all the serious
conferences, was obliged, during several hours in mornings and
evenings when he was left wholly to himself, to have recourse to the
"Imitation of Jesus Christ;" and he ended by studying that book as a
man studies a book when he has but one, or is a prisoner. A book is
then like a woman with whom we live in solitude; we must either hate
or adore that woman, and, in like manner, we must either enter into
the soul of the author or not read ten lines of his book.

Now, it is impossible not to be impressed by the "Imitation of Jesus
Christ," which is to dogma what action is to thought. Catholicism
vibrates in it, pulses, breathes, and lives, body to body, with human
life. The book is a sure friend. It speaks to all passions, all
difficulties, even worldly ones; it solves all problems; it is more
eloquent than any preacher, for its voice is your own, it is the voice
within your soul, you hear it with your spirit. It is, in short, the
Gospel translated, adapted to all ages, the summit and crest of all
human situations. It is extraordinary that the Church has never
canonized John Gersen, for the Divine Spirit evidently inspired his
pen.

For Godefroid, the hotel de la Chanterie now held a woman and a book;
day by day he loved the woman more; he discovered flowers buried
beneath the snows of winter in her heart; he had glimpses of the joys
of a sacred friendship which religion permits, on which the angels
smile; a friendship which here united these five persons and against
which no evil could prevail.