The sublime delirium of her pious contemplations embellished and preserved the first years of her youth, composed the rest by her philosophy, and seemed as if it must preserve her for ever from the tempests of passion.

Her devotion was ardent; it took the tints of her soul, and she aspired to the cloister, and dreamed of martyrdom.
Entering a convent, she found there propitious moments, surrendering her thoughts to mysticism and her heart to first friendships.

The monotonous regularity of this life gently soothed the activity of her meditations.
In the hours of relaxation she did not play with her companions, but retired beneath some tree to read and muse.

As sensitive as Rousseau to the beauty of foliage, the rustling of the grass, the odour of the herbs, she admired the hand of God, and kissed it in his works.
Overflowing with gratitude and inward delight, she went to adore him at church.

There the sonorous organ's lengthened peal, uniting with the voices of the youthful nuns, completed the excess of her ecstacy.