After a stay in Auvergne of seventeen months, the family returned to Paris in November 1650. There we still read of the pious labours and devotion of Jacqueline—little or nothing of her brother. How far the leisure of country life may have weaned him from his old pursuits, how far the world had begun to exercise a new attraction over him, we learn nothing. It is evident from his letter to M. Périer on his father’s death, nearly a year after this, that he still cherished strongly his religious convictions. Yet there is nothing in all this time to tell of his religious profession; and Madame Périer plainly does not care to dwell upon it, but hurries forward to the later and more edifying period of his career. The impression is left upon us that worldly distractions had already begun to influence his life. These distractions rapidly acquired force after the father’s death in the autumn of 1651 (September). The devoted Jacqueline attended his last moments with assiduous tenderness; but no sooner was the event over than she renewed her determination to enter Port Royal. The issue cannot be so well described as in Madame Périer’s words:— “Being ill,” she says, “I was unable to leave Paris till the end of November. In this interval, my brother, who was greatly afflicted, and had received much consolation from my sister, imagined that her affection would make her remain with him at least a year. . . . He spoke to her on the subject, but in such a manner as to convey the impression that she would not so far contradict him for fear of redoubling his grief. This led her to dissemble her intention till our arrival. Then she told me that her resolution was fixed to adopt a religious life as soon as our respective shares [of the father’s property] were arranged. She would, however, spare my brother by leading him to suppose she only meditated a retreat! With this view, she disposed of everything in my presence; our shares were settled on the last day of December; and she fixed upon the 4th of January for carrying out her decision. On the evening before, she begged me to say something to my brother, that he might not be taken by surprise. I did so with all the precaution I could; but although I hinted that it was only a retreat, with the view of knowing something of the sort of life, he did not fail to be deeply touched. He withdrew very sad to his chamber without seeing my sister, who was then in a small cabinet where she was accustomed to retire for prayer. She did not come out till my brother had left, as she feared his look would go to her heart. I told her for him what words of tenderness he had spoken; and after that we both retired. Though I consented with all my heart to what my sister was doing, because I thought it was for her the highest good, the greatness of her resolution astonished and