"The grand building brought in its train," she said, "drapery and mattresses--delicate food and fine furniture--and so many other fine things that there was no room left for holy poverty." Her apprehensions for the future were a species of martyrdom to her, and a difference of opinion was the commencement of all her mental anguish, as after that period we find her Memoirs filled with painful reflections. In 1677 a young person presented herself for admission, who was unfit for any duties except out-door employment, and Sister Bourgeois refused to receive her. The refusal, however, was contrary to the desire of any of the Sisters, although it was approved of by ecclesiastical superiors. The Foundress, writing of the circumstance, says: "From that time I think the Sisters lost confidence in me, and I lost the liberty of speaking of such matters to them." This was a sad position for a superior who believed God's work would suffer by a real or supposed lack of confidence. It will be remembered she was engaged for two entire years in the task of procuring new subjects, together with the _letters patent_ for the institute, and during that time the signal favors she received from both God and man gave her much consolation. But no sooner had she returned to Ville-Marie than she was replunged into sorrowful embarrassments, as she noticed that what _seemed to her_ to be relaxations had crept in. She attributed the fire of 1683, and the deaths of her two best subjects on that occasion, to her own sins, and overwhelmed with these ideas, her life became a sad and pensive one. She was also firmly persuaded (in her deep humility) that she was unworthy and incapable of governing the rising Congregation. So persuaded was she of it, that she frequently asked the Sisters to accept her resignation, but as they justly attributed her request to an over-scrupulous conscience, they refused to acquiesce. She then reproached herself with infidelity to her vocation in seeking to be released from the burden of superiority, as she had often promised Almighty God that, come what would, she should never abandon His work. Sometimes pride whispered that she was quite useful in the position she occupied. At other times she felt convinced that others could discharge the duty better. Always disquieted, always agitated, she knew not what to do. In this state of desolation, she lost confidence in her directors, who she supposed, did not understand her. The only consolation she experienced was an absolute submission to the orders of Divine Providence, and a firm confidence that God would at last arrange all things well for His greater glory. And so things were arranged, indeed, but in such a manner that this spouse of the Crucified had to drink to the dregs the saving chalice of affliction, and taste in her inmost soul all its bitterness.