St. Francis of Sales used to say: “People ask for secrets that they may advance in perfection; for my own part, I know of only one: to love God above all things, and my neighbor as myself.” And Bossuet, that other great master of the spiritual life, said: “Give all to God, search to the very depths, empty your heart for God; he will know very well how to employ and to fill it.” This is what Gertrude has done, who just now quoted these two thoughts to console me. Alas! yes, I cannot resign myself to see her depart, this enchanting soul, so worthy of love. “Remember,” Gertrude said to me, “that God undertakes to give back everything to those who have given him all. I perceive many sacrifices for you, dear Georgina; be worthy of God’s favors, for suffering is one of these.” And she quitted me. She lives so near to God that every word she utters seems to me an oracle, and now I am afraid. O poor soul!—a reed bending to every wind. “Turn thee to Him who comforts and who heals.” Help me, dear Kate! René, Margaret, and Marcella agree in diverting my attention, but the blow has been given! O my God! If a whole family might but enter heaven all at the same time! if there were no tears of departure! I communicated this morning, and promised our adorable Jesus in the Blessed Eucharist to sacrifice my heart to him. Berthe, Raoul, and Picciola set out to-morrow for Lourdes; we have not ventured to dissuade the poor mother from this idea. I had a foolish longing to follow them, but I saw in this a first sacrifice, and offered it to obtain courage. If, however, Mary would be pleased to cure her! They will make a novena there, and not return until the 16th. What a long time without seeing her! Our country neighbor has installed himself, and yesterday paid us his first visit. My mother gave him a more than amiable reception. We all thanked him for the care with which he had attended Anna, who threw her arms round his neck with the greatest simplicity. Marcella replied gracefully to the civilities of the good doctor, who accepted an invitation to dinner. My mother finds him very well bred. He is fifty years of age, very tall, with an open and expressive countenance, most extensive learning, skill, wit, fortune, and above all _faith_; he is thus in every way worthy of my friend. René has explained this to me, and has ended by requesting me to favor this marriage. Margaret, on leaving me this evening, whispered in my ear: “Dear, will our fair Roman be insensible? The aspirant belongs _to the very first quality of nature’s noblemen_.” Good-by, dear Kate; pray much! AUGUST 6, 1869.