Vincent de Paul descends
into the folds of her own heart in meditation, and enkindles in the
fire of divine love the charity with which she must cheer the poor or
sick whom she is destined to visit during the day.
What a difference between those two lives! The worldling rises
rested, but not from a refreshing sleep, she is aroused perhaps by
the importunate rays of the mid-day sun or by the noisy tramping of
hardy workmen who, after their half day's work is done, return home
to partake of a frugal repast and receive the sweet greetings of a
Christian family. It is then that her day begins, as also the series
of the _grave_ occupations that are destined to fill it. The
time is short and scarcely suffices to prepare herself for the
evening amusements; all her energies are now employed to give herself
that external grace and charm necessary to render her conspicuous in
the joyous circle. Alas! the worldly woman is entirely absorbed in
herself, and when she does something for others, it is with a view to
secure her own interest or pleasure. That devotedness, that generous
sacrifice and disinterestedness characteristic of true friendship is
to her a mere paradox, as she is an entire stranger to its effects
and charms.
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