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Yet welcome as were Father Dan's letters the life they described
seemed less and less important to me as time went on, for the outer
world was slipping away from me altogether and I was becoming more and
more immersed in my spiritual exercises.
I spent much of my time reading religious books--the life of Saint
Teresa, the meditations of Saint Francis of Sales, and, above all, the
letters and prayers of our Blessed Margaret Mary Alacoque, whose love of
the Sacred Heart was like a flaming torch to my excited spirit.
The soul of Rome, too, seemed to enter into my soul--not the new Rome,
for of that I knew nothing, but the old Rome, the holy city, that could
speak to me in the silence of the night within the walls of my
convent-school, with its bells of the Dominican and Franciscan
monasteries on either side, its stories of miracles performed on the
sick and dying by the various shrines of the Madonna, its accounts of
the vast multitudes of the faithful who came from all ends of the earth
to the ceremonials at St.


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