betokened the ravages of fire. The poor woman sank upon the ground
utterly overpowered. Had her son perished? At that moment she heard the
cry of a child's voice, and, lo! her child rushed to her arms, and called
her "mother!"

He had been saved from the fire, which had broken out seven days before;
but in the terror he had suffered, the string that tied his tongue had
been loosened; he had uttered articulate sounds of distress; the curse
was removed, and one word at least the kind neighbours had already taught
him to welcome his mother's return. What cared she now that her
substance was gone, that her roof was ashes? She bowed in grateful
submission to so mild a stroke; her prayer had been heard, and the sin of
the mother was visited no longer on the child.

I have said, dear Gertrude, that this story made a deep impression upon
Lucille. A misfortune so nearly akin to that of St. Amand removed by the
prayer of another filled her with devoted thoughts and a beautiful hope.
"Is not the tomb still standing?" thought she. "Is not God still in
heaven?--He who heard the guilty, may He not hear the guiltless? Is He
not the God of love? Are not the affections the offerings that please
Him best? And what though the child's mediator was his mother, can even
a mother love her child more tenderly than I love Eugene? But if,
Lucille, thy prayer be granted, if he recover his sight, _thy_ charm is
gone, he will love thee no longer. No matter! be it so,--I shall at
least have made him happy!"

Such were the thoughts that filled the mind of Lucille; she cherished
them till they settled into resolution, and she secretly vowed to perform
her pilgrimage of love. She told neither St. Amand nor her parents of
her intention; she knew the obstacles such an announcement would create.