Dear Kate, I shall send you on the day of Alleluias my journal of the week. Thanks for having allowed me to come to you as usual during this Lent; to read you and talk to you is a part of my life.
A thousand kisses, my very dearest.
April 6, 1868.
My sweet sister, I have just come in with René from Mass. We communicated side by side, like the martyrs of the catacombs. As we came out, and while still under the deep impression of the presence of God, René proposed to me a sacrifice—that of not speaking to each other, at any rate without absolute necessity, during this week. My heart felt rather full—it will cost me so much; but how could I help consenting? Oh! but how love longs to speak to the object loved. I shall have to throw myself into a whirl of things, and absorb myself in them, that I may not find this privation quite insupportable.
7th.—Yesterday evening, at Sainte-Croix, Monsignor spoke for about twenty-five minutes. I was too far off to hear, but I was none the less happy. I am reading Mgr. de Ségur; his teaching is gentle and loving, even when he speaks of self-renunciation and sacrifice. Nothing is more comforting than his little work, Jesus Living in Us. I remarked this thought of Origen’s: “Thou art heaven, and thou wilt go to heaven!”—Confession. How
well the good father was inspired! What wise directions! I came out strengthened and courageous; but alas! alas! poor, sorrowful me, on coming in I found a letter awaiting me—a letter from Margaret. Lizzy is greatly indisposed, and obliged to give up her journey. This made me shed tears, and, as René did not ask the cause of my pain, I repented for a moment that I had undertaken so hard a sacrifice. Dear Kate, it was very wrong, and your Georgina is always the same.
8th.—Letter from Sarah, full of joy; her sister Betsy is to be married on the 22d, and wishes for me to be at her wedding. Kind friend! God grant that she may be happy! Until this present time, with the exception of the terrible strokes of death which have fallen not far from her on the friends of her childhood, her life has been calm and happy, almost privileged. She has never left her mother.
Marcella, Lucy, and I are preparing an Easter-tree for all the darlings. I have been studying very much lately; Marcella mia assures me that I make wonderful progress.
Benoni does not expect to share in the festivity, but he must; and how joyfully he will clap his hands at the sight of the playthings hung there for him!
My paralytic told me yesterday that she would like to make her Easter Communion next Thursday—that is, to-morrow. Gertrude and I must rise with the dawn to make an escort for the gentle Jesus, the Comforter of the infirm and poor. Ah! dear Kate, how much I should dislike the life of a Chartreux. To see René and not be able to speak to him, when I feel such a want to pour out my thoughts to him, is a