“Daughter of God,” they said, “rise, and listen. We come to teach thee to live well that thou mayest be prepared for thy mission.”
Further they spoke to her, but soon the brilliancy began to dim, and Jeanne caught at their garments.
“Oh, do not leave me,” she cried entreatingly. “Take me with you.”
“Nay,” came the answer. “Thy time is not yet, Daughter of God. Thy work is yet to be done.”
OFTEN THEY APPEARED IN THE LITTLE GARDEN
With these words the gentle forms disappeared, and Jeanne flung herself upon the place where they had stood, weeping in an anguish of tenderness and longing.
The saints visited her nearly every day after this. She met them everywhere; sometimes in the woods, or near the Spring; often they appeared in the little garden close to the precincts of the church, and especially did they come when the bells were ringing for matins or compline. It was then that she heard the sweet words that they spoke most distinctly. So she loved the sound of the bells with which the voices mingled. Soon she grew to call the visions “My Voices,” for the appearance of her visitors was always more imperfect to her than the message. Their outlines and their lovely faces might shine uncertain in the excess of light, but the words were always plain.