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 always, as the record of the first victory won over myself.
It is now many years since I witnessed the celebration of the 'Fete Dieu'; but should I again feel in it the happy sensations of former days?
I still remember how, when the procession had passed, I walked through the streets strewed with flowers and shaded with green boughs.
I felt intoxicated by the lingering perfumes of the incense, mixed with the fragrance of syringas, jessamine, and roses, and I seemed no longer to touch the ground as I went along.