She also became aware, as must all those who pursue a way of spiritual endeavour, that silence is the preliminary to concentration.
The atmosphere of the convent, which Frances had heard spoken of outside its walls as “peaceful” and “gentle” was, to her awakened perceptions, mainly one of intense concentration. The whole place, silent and monotonous, and even trivial in detail, was instinct with a force that seemed to vibrate through the stillness. Frances could discern this force in the chapel, in the refectory, most of all perhaps in the cold, narrow dormitory. The words which came oftenest to her mind were the “Ego dormio: et cor meum vigilat,” painted in red letters a foot high on the whitewashed wall just above the narrow window.
She could not have spoken of this impression of tense unceasing life which for her lay behind all the convent routine, but she felt a new sensation as of being mentally at rest, as though she were at last able to share and recognize the scale of relative values prevailing in her surroundings.
Of the progress of her spiritual life she was scarcely aware. Frances was not introspective, and possessed that curious detachment from herself sometimes observable in extremely and fundamentally innocent personalities.
She listened to the instructions given, both general and particular, with the careful attention of a conscientious child, noted her failures to observe good resolutions in a tiny paper notebook kept in her pocket, and made it a matter of habit to observe scrupulously the more minute details of her daily duties.
She was naturally careful, and had been taught order by Mrs. Tregaskis, but her tendency to sit and dream was a source of much heart-searching to Frances.
“Vous êtes dans la lune, ma petite sœur,” was a brisk reminder often uttered by Mère Thérèse, and Frances would return to earth with a guilty start and a few words of fervent contrition and resolution in her heart.
When the winter was drawing to a close, and Frances had been at the Convent nearly six months, Mère Thérèse spoke to her of her prise d’habit. The ceremony, goal of every novice’s thoughts, was the first stage of the religious life proper. The novice exchanged her own name for a religious one bestowed upon her by the Superior, her hair was cut off, and the white Cross of her Order fastened upon the front of her habit. It was the preliminary step to the vows which she would take later on.
“Oh, ma Mère!” stammered Frances, her face one flush of joy.
“I think so, little one. I have spoken to Notre Mère Supérieure, and the ceremony will probably be for Easter Monday ... you must be very, very fervent....”