Oh! I would have given every drop of my blood, in that solemn hour, that I might have been free to deal with her just as she had so eloquently requested me to do--to let her weep and cry at the feet of Jesus to her heart's content! Oh! if I had been free to take her by the hand, and silently show her her dying Saviour, that she might have bathed His feet with her tears, and spread the oil of her love on His head, without my saying anything else but "Go in peace: thy sins are forgiven!" But there, in that confessional-box, I was not the servant of Christ, to follow His divine, saving words, and obey the dictates of my honest conscience. I was the slave of the Pope! I had to stifle the cry of my conscience, to ignore the inspirations of my God! There, my conscience had no right to speak; my intelligence was a dead thing! The theologians of the Pope, alone, had a right to be heard and obeyed! I was not there to save, but to destroy; for, under the pretext of purifying, the real mission of the confessor, often in spite of himself, is to scandalize and damn the souls. As soon as the young man, who was making his confession at my left hand, had finished, I, without noise, turned myself towards her, and said, through the little aperture, "Are you ready to begin your confession?" But she did not answer me. All that I could hear was, "Oh, my Jesus, have mercy upon me! Dear Saviour, here I am with all my sins; do not reject me! I come to wash my soul in Thy blood; wilt Thou rebuke me?" During several minutes, she raised her hands and her eyes to heaven, and wept and prayed. It was evident that she had not the least idea that I was observing her; she thought the door of the little partition between her and me was shut. But my eyes were fixed upon her; my tears were flowing with her tears, and my ardent prayers were going to the feet of Jesus with her prayers. I would not have interrupted her, for any consideration, in this her sublime communion with her merciful Saviour. But, after a pretty long time, I made a little noise with my hand, and, putting my lips near the opening of the partition which was between us, I said, in a low voice, "Dear sister, are you ready to begin your confession?" She turned her face a little towards me, and said, with a trembling voice, "Yes, dear Father, I am ready." But she then stopped again to weep and pray, though I could not hear what she said. After some time of silent prayer, I said, "My dear sister, if you are ready, please begin your confession."