From Marie Guérin to Thérèse - November 17 , 1887

From Marie Guérin to Thérèse.

November 17, 1887

Thursday, November 17, 1887

Dear little Thérèse,

I am coming to spend the evening at Rome in order to take ref­uge from the winter cold that is sweeping through Normandy and freezing the poor inhabitants of Lisieux on the spot. How fortun­ate you are over there; at least, you are avoiding a good month of chilblains. You are nice and warm there, just as in summer, while your cousins are in the depths of winter. The snow falls. it is freezing, and it’s a case of who will shiver the most.

In spite of the winter cold, we paid a visit to your cellar. There were a few pears lost, but what most attracted our attention and our compassion was your dog. Tom does nothing but whimper day and night; he arouses deep pity in us. If, at least, I had a place to put him at our house, I would take him and this would distract him.

Continuing the news about your house, I will tell you that the large tree at the entrance was bent over under the weight of the snow and also the two rosebushes on the side. Now I'm going to inform you of the decease of one of your hens that succumbed af­ter several days of sickness. Maria, not seeing it eat, brought it to Mademoiselle Carré, who told her that the poor beast had dis­temper; I wonder what she will do with it, and I don't know if she will think about its burial.

We had a visit from M. l'abbé Lepelletier, who told us about his trip to Rome and gave us a photograph of the Holy Father.

I was at the Abbey this week where I was well received and was invited to the feast of Mother St. Placide next Tuesday; I shall have to play my piece at the end of the meeting, which I don't relish at all. Everybody came up to me, asking for news about the travelers, and I didn't know which way to turn my head. You can flatter yourself for giving me the beastly task of always repeating the same thing. I was more fatigued than if I myself had made the trip. Nothing new at our Lisieux, but as for Rome it is another matter. It has a treasure which it does not suspect and which it would do well to return to me soon; my dear little Thérèse's absence is beginning to appear too long. However, to pass the time I pray every day for this dear little sister, not for her to return but for her special intentions, and I ask God to bless her trip-

Adieu, dear little Thérèse. I thank you for your good little let­ter. I am not kissing you, but I am sending you my heart which will know better than I know how to say: I love you.

Your sister, Marie, the rascal

Kiss Uncle and Céline for me. Pray for me. Mamma Papinau has put on her warmest clothes and her woolen veil.

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