ew not what new comedy to invent. She
thought of putting ink in the holy water,--it had been done already; of
hanging the parrot of the under-mistress,--but they had given her so
many frights, there would be nothing new in that. She saw, one
evening, the door of the little chapel open;--its quiet, its exquisite
cleanliness and simplicity attracted her. She had followed thither to
mock at the awkward motions of a little hunch-backed sister at her
devotions,--but once within she forgot this object. A veiled nun was
kneeling in her stall at prayer,--a single lamp feebly illuminated the
white walls,--a star looked in at her through the dim window. The nun
slowly rose and departed. Aurore was left alone. A calm, such as she had
never known, took possession of her,--a sudden light seemed to envelop
her,--she heard the mystical sentence vouchsafed to Saint Augustin:
"_Toile, lege!_" Turning to see who whispered it, she found herself
alone.

"I cherished no vain illusion. I did not believe in a miraculous voice.
I understood perfectly the sort of hallucination into which I had
fallen. I was neither elated nor frightened at it. Only, I felt that
Faith was taking possession of me, as I had wished, through the heart. I
was so grateful, in such delight, that a torrent of tears inundated my
face. 'Yes, yes, the veil is torn!' I said, 'I see the light of heaven!
I will go! But, before all, let me render thanks. To whom? how? What is
thy name?' said I to the unknown God who called me to him. 'How shall I
pray to thee? What language worthy of thee and capable of expressing
its love can my soul speak to thee? I know not; but thou readest my
heart,--thou seest that I love thee!'"

From this moment, Aurore gave herself up to the passion of devotion,
which, in natures like hers, is often the first to unclose. There are
all sorts of religious experiences,--some poor and shallow, some rich
and deep, with every variety of shade between. But wherever Love is
capable of being heroic, Religion will also find room to work its larger
miracles. Aurore's devotion was not likely to be a frigid recognition of
doctrine, nor to consist in the minute care of an infinitesimal soul,
whose salvation could be of small avail to any save its possessor. Her
religion could only be a sympathetic and contagious flame, running from
soul to soul, as beacon-fires catch at night and illuminate a whole
tract of country. From this time she became patient, thorough, and