in a wonderful way to lift me up into the atmosphere where my
Philippe was gone, making me feel that what kept me so far--far from
him was not death, nor his coffin, but my own thick husk of sin and
worldliness. Much more there was, which seems now to have grown into
my very soul; and by the time it was over I was weeping tears no
longer bitter, and feeling nothing so much as the need to speak to
that priest.

M. de Solivet promised that I should, but we had long to wait, for
the saintly Abbe de Paul would not postpone the poor to the rich; nor
could my grief claim the precedence, for I was not the only broken-
hearted young widow in France, nor even in that little village.

I cannot be grateful enough to my brother that he put up with all the
inconveniences of sleeping at this little village, that I might carry
out what he though a mere woman's enthusiastic fancy: but in truth it
was everything to me. After vespers the holy man was able to give me
an hour in the church, and verily it was the opening of new life to
me. Since my light had been taken from me, all had been utter
desolate darkness before me. He put a fresh light before me, which
now, after fifty years, I know to have been the dawn of better
sunshine than even that which had brightened my youth--and I thank my
good God, who has never let me entirely lose sight of it.

Very faint, almost disappointing, it seemed to me then. I came away
from my interview feeling as if it had been vain to think there could
be any balm for a crushed heart, and yet when I awoke the next
morning, and dressed myself to hear mass before resuming my journey,
it was with the sense that there I should meet a friend and
comforter. And when I looked at my little son, it was not only with