The question is not how these
strong ties may suddenly be broken; but to discover well, first of all,
of what threads each tie is composed, and to disentangle, and gnaw them
away thread by thread.

And all this may easily be done by him who, awakening new scruples
every day, fills a timid soul with uneasiness, about the lawfulness of
her most holy affections. If any one of them be innocent, it is, after
all, an earthly attachment, a robbery against God: God wants all. No
more relationship or friendship; nothing must remain. "A brother?"
No, he is still a man. "But at least my sister? my mother?" "No, you
must leave all--leave them intentionally, and from your soul; you shall
always see them, my child; nothing will appear changed; only, close
your heart." A moral solitude is thus established around. Friends go
away, offended at her freezing politeness. "People are cool in this
house." But why this strange reception? They cannot guess; she does
not always know why herself. The thing is commanded; is it not enough?
Obedience consists in obeying without reason.

"People are cold here:" this is all that can be said. The husband
finds the house larger and more empty. His wife is become quite
changed: though present, her mind is absent; she acts as if unconscious
of acting; she speaks, but not like herself. Everything is changed in
their intimate habits, always for a good reason: "To-day is a fast
day"--and to-morrow? "Is a holy-day." The husband respects this
austerity; he would consider it very wrong to trouble this exalted
devotion; he is sadly resigned: "This becomes embarrassing," says he:
"I had not foreseen it; my wife is turning saint."[2]

In this sad house there are fewer friends, yet there is a new one, and
a very assiduous one: the habitual confessor is now the director;[3] a
great and important change.

As her confessor he received her at church, at regular hours; but as
director he visits her at his own hour, sees her at her house, and
occasionally at his own.

As confessor he was generally passive, listening much, and speaking
little; if he prescribed, it was in a few words; but as director he is
all activity; he not only prescribes acts, but what is more important,
by intimate conversation he influences her thoughts.

To the confessor she tells her sins; she owes him nothing more; but to
the director everything must be told: she must speak of herself and her
relations, her business and