Whatever day-dreams Pascal may have cherished, “God called him,” as his sister says, “to a great perfection.” It was not in his nature to be satisfied with either the enchantments or the ambitions of the world. All the while that he mixed in the luxurious society of Paris, and seemed merely one of its thoughtless throng, there were throbs within him of a higher life which could not be stilled. His conscience reproached him continually amidst all his amusements, and left him uneasy even in the most exulting moments of the love that filled his heart. This is no hypothetical picture, but one suggested by himself in conversation with his sister. She tells us from her retreat how her brother came to see her, fascinated by the steadfastness of her faith, in contrast with his own indifference and vacillation. Formerly it was his zeal which had drawn her to higher thoughts. Now it is the attraction of her piety which sways him, and leaves him unhappy amidst all the seductions of the society in which he mingles. “God made use of my sister,” says Madame Périer, “for the great design, as He had formerly made use of my brother, when He desired to withdraw my sister from her engagements in the world.” The severe Jacqueline tells with unfaltering breath the story of her brother’s spiritual anxieties. She had ceased herself to have any worldly thoughts. “She led,” says Madame Périer, “a life so holy, that she edified the whole house: and in this state it was a special pain to her to see one to whom she felt herself indebted, under God, for the grace which she enjoyed, no longer himself in possession of these graces: and as she saw my brother frequently, she spoke to him often, and finally with such force and sweetness, that she persuaded him, as he had at first persuaded her, absolutely to abandon the world.” Writing to her sister on the 25th of January 1655, she says that Pascal came to see her at the end of the previous September.