Far from avoiding humiliations, Soeur Therese sought them eagerly, and for that reason she offered herself as “aid” to a Sister who, she well knew, was difficult to please, and her generous proposal was accepted.  One day, when she had suffered much from this Sister, a novice asked her why she looked so happy.  Great was her surprise on receiving the reply:  “It is because Sister N. has just been saying disagreeable things to me.  What pleasure she has given me!  I wish I could meet her now, and give her a sweet smile.” . . . As she was still speaking, the Sister in question knocked at the door, and the astonished novice could see for herself how the Saints forgive.  Soeur Therese acknowledged later on, she “soared so high above earthly things that humiliations did but make her stronger.”

To all these virtues she joined a wonderful courage.  From her entrance into the Carmel, at the age of fifteen, she was allowed to follow all the practices of its austere Rule, the fasts alone excepted.  Sometimes her companions in the noviciate, seeing how pale she looked, tried to obtain a dispensation for her, either from the Night Office, or from rising at the usual hour in the morning, but the Mother Prioress would never yield to these requests.  “A soul of such mettle,” she would say, “ought not to be dealt with as a child; dispensations are not meant for her.  Let her be, for God sustains her.  Besides, if she is really ill, she should come and tell me herself."[2]

But it was always a principle with Therese that “We should go to the end of our strength before we complain.”  How many times did she assist at Matins suffering from vertigo or violent headaches!  “I am able to walk,” she would say, “and so I ought to be at my duty.”  And, thanks to this undaunted energy, she performed acts that were heroic.

It was with difficulty that her delicate stomach accustomed itself to the frugal fare of the Carmel.  Certain things made her ill, but she knew so well how to hide this, that no one ever suspected it.  Her neighbour at table said that she had tried in vain to discover the dishes that she preferred, and the kitchen Sisters, finding her so easy to please, invariably served her with what was left.  It was only during her last illness, when she was ordered to say what disagreed with her, that her mortifications came to light.  “When Jesus wishes us to suffer,” she said at that time, “there can be no evading it.  And so, when Sister Mary of the Sacred Heart[3] was procuratrix, she endeavoured to look after me with a mother’s tenderness.  To all appearances, I was well cared for, and yet what mortifications did she not impose upon me! for she served me according to her own taste, which was entirely opposed to mine.”

Therese’s spirit of sacrifice was far-reaching; she eagerly sought what was painful and disagreeable, as her rightful share.  All that God asked she gave Him without hesitation or reserve.

“During my postulancy,” she said, “it cost me a great deal to perform certain exterior penances, customary in our convents, but I never yielded to these repugnances; it seemed to me that the image of my Crucified Lord looked at me with beseeching eyes, and begged these sacrifices.”