her, in the name of his mother, his young
sister to educate.

It seems that as long as she had this tender pledge she was in some
degree calmer; but it was soon taken from her. This child, so
cherished and so well taken care of, died in her arms at her own house.
She cannot disguise from the Saint, in the excess of her grief, that
she had asked God to let her rather die herself; she went so far as to
pray that she might rather lose one of her own children!

This took place in November (1607). It is three months after that we
find in the letters of the Saint the first idea of getting nearer to
him a person so well tried, and who seemed to him, moreover, to be an
instrument of the designs of God.

The extreme vivacity, I was almost saying the violence, with which
Madame de Chantal broke every tie in order to follow an impulse given
with so much reserve, proves too plainly all the passion of her ardent
nature. It was not an easy thing to leave there those two old men, her
father, her father-in-law, and her own son, who, they say, stretched
himself out on the threshold to prevent her passing. Good old Fremiot
was gained over less by his daughter than by the letters of the Saint,
which she used as auxiliaries. We have still the letter of
resignation, all blotted over with his tears, in which he gives his
consent: this resignation, moreover, seems not to have lasted long. He
died the following year.

She has now passed over the body of her son and that of her father; she
arrives at Annecy. What would have happened if the Saint had not found
fuel for this powerful flame that he had raised too high--higher than
he desired himself?

The day after the Pentecost, he calls her to him after mass: "Well, my
daughter," says he, "I have determined what I shall do with you." "And
I am resolved to obey," cried she, falling on her knees before him.
"You must enter St. Clair's." "I am quite ready," replied she. "No,
you are not strong enough; you must be a sister in the Hospital of
Beaune." "Whatever you please." "This is not quite what I
want--become a Carmelite." He tried her thus in several ways, and
found her ever obedient. "Well," said he, "nothing of the sort--God
calls you to the Visitation."

The Visitation had nothing of the austerity of the ancient orders. The
founder himself said it was "almost no religion at all." No
troublesome customs, no watchings, no fastings, but little duty, short
prayers, no seclu