“Oh! give wings unto your love, souls imbued with Christian piety.  God has made a sacrifice of Himself for your sakes, your hearts are full of His presence, your souls overflow with His grace!”

Of a sudden the organ sounded again, and the litanies of the Virgin began with their appeals of passionate tenderness.  Faint and distant the chanting rolled forth from the side-aisles and the dark recesses of the chapels, as though the earth were giving answer to the angel voices of the chorister-boys.  A rush of air swept over the throng, making the flames of the tapers leap, while amongst the flowers, fading as they exhaled their last perfume, the Divine Mother seemed to incline her head to smile on her infant Jesus.

All at once, seized with an instinctive dread, Helene turned.  “You’re not ill, Jeanne, are you?” she asked.

The child, with face ashy white and eyes glistening, her spirit borne aloft by the fervent strains of the litanies, was gazing at the altar, where in imagination she could see the roses multiplying and falling in cascades.

“No, no, mamma,” she whispered; “I am pleased, I am very well pleased.”  And then she asked:  “But where is our dear old friend?”

She spoke of the Abbe.  Pauline caught sight of him; he was seated in the choir, but Jeanne had to be lifted up in order that she might perceive him.

“Oh!  He is looking at us,” said she; “he is blinking.”  According to Jeanne, the Abbe blinked when he laughed inwardly.  Helene hastened to exchange a friendly nod with him.  And then the tranquillity within her seemed to increase, her future serenity appeared to be assured, thus endearing the church to her and lulling her into a blissful condition of patient endurance.  Censers swung before the altar and threads of smoke ascended; the benediction followed, and the holy monstrance was slowly raised and waved above the heads lowered to the earth.  Helene was still on her knees in happy meditation when she heard Madame Deberle exclaiming:  “It’s over now; let us go.”

There ensued a clatter of chairs and a stamping of feet which reverberated along the arched aisles.  Pauline had taken Jeanne’s hand, and, walking away in front with the child, began to question her: 

“Have you ever been to the theatre?”

“No.  Is it finer than this?”

As she spoke, the little one, giving vent to great gasps of wonder, tossed her head as though ready to express the belief that nothing could be finer.  To her question, however, Pauline deigned no reply, for she had just come to a standstill in front of a priest who was passing in his surplice.  And when he was a few steps away she exclaimed aloud, with such conviction in her tones that two devout ladies of the congregation turned around: 

“Oh! what a fine head!”

Helene, meanwhile, had risen from her knees.  She stepped along by the side of Juliette among the crowd which was making its way out with difficulty.  Her heart was full of tenderness, she felt languid and enervated, and her soul no longer rebelled at the other being so near.  At one moment their bare hands came in contact and they smiled.  They were almost stifling in the throng, and Helene would fain have had Juliette go first.  All their old friendship seemed to blossom forth once more.