see them detach themselves from the
wall, and take their places in the procession! But these impressions
were vague and transitory. The feeling that predominated over every
other was that of an overflowing yet quiet joy. In the midst of all the
floating draperies, the scattered flowers, the voices of the maidens,
and the gladness which, like a perfume, exhaled from everything, you
felt transported in spite of yourself. The joyful sounds of the festival
were repeated in your heart, in a thousand melodious echoes. You were
more indulgent, more holy, more loving! For God was not only manifesting
himself without, but also within us.

And then the altars for the occasion! the flowery arbors! the triumphal
arches made of green boughs! What competition among the different
parishes for the erection of the resting-places where the procession was
to halt! It was who should contribute the rarest and the most beautiful
of his possessions!

It was there I made my first sacrifice!

The wreaths of flowers were arranged, the candles lighted, and the
Tabernacle dressed with roses; but one was wanting fit to crown the
whole! All the neighboring gardens had been ransacked. I alone possessed
a flower worthy of such a place. It was on the rose-tree given me by my
mother on my birthday. I had watched it for several months, and there
was no other bud to blow on the tree. There it was, half open, in its
mossy nest, the object of such long expectations, and of all a child's
pride! I hesitated for some moments. No one had asked me for it; I
might easily avoid losing it. I should hear no reproaches, but one rose
noiselessly within me. When every one else had given all they had, ought
I alone to keep back my treasure? Ought I to grudge to God one of the
gifts which, like all the rest, I had received from him? At this last
thought I plucked the flower from the stem, and took it to put at the
top of the Tabernacle. Ah! why does the recollection of this sacrifice,
which was so hard and yet so sweet to me, now make me smile? Is it
so certain that the value of a gift is in itself, rather than in the
intention? If the cup of cold water in the gospel is remembered to the
poor man, why should not the flower be remembered to the child? Let us
not look down upon the child's simple act of generosity; it is these
which accustom the soul to self-denial and to sympathy. I cherished this
moss-rose a long time as a sacred talisman; I had reason to cherish it