The daughter of an excellent physician and surgeon, being in a continual fever, and knowing that her father loved her entirely, said to one of her friends: “I feel very great pain, but I do not think of remedies, for I do not know what might serve for my cure; I might desire one thing, and another might be necessary for me. Do I not then gain more by leaving this care to my father, who knows, who can do, and who wills for me, all that is required for my health? I should do wrong by willing anything, for he wills all that is profitable to me. I will only wait to let him will to do what is expedient; and when he comes to me, I will only look at him, testify my filial love for him, and show him my perfect confidence.” And on these words she fell asleep.

Meanwhile, her father, judging that it was fit to bleed her, disposed all that was necessary, and waking her up asked her if were willing to suffer the operation. “My father,” she said, “I am yours; I know not what to will for my cure; it is yours to will and do for me what seems good to you; it is enough for me to love and  honour you with all my heart, as I do.”

So her arm is tied, and her father himself opens the vein. And while the blood flows, this loving daughter looks not at her arm nor at the spurring blood, but keeping her eyes fixed on her father’s face, she says only, from time to time: “My father loves me, and I, I am entirely his.”

And when all was done she did not [hastily] thank him but only repeated her words of filial confidence and love.
Saint Francis de Sales