white rose, which he purified by touching them with
the sacred oil and making on them the sign of the cross.

"_Per istam sanctam unctionem, et suam piissimam misericordiam,
indulgeat tibi Dominus quidquid per odoratum deliquisti_."

And the sense of smell returned to its primitive innocence, cleansed
from all stain: not only from the carnal disgrace of perfumes, from
the seduction of flowers with breath too sweet, from the scattered
fragrances of the air which put the soul to sleep; but yet again from
the faults of the interior sense, the bad examples given to others, and
the contagious pestilence of scandal. Erect and pure, she had at last
become a lily among the lilies, a great lily whose perfume fortified the
weak and delighted the strong. In fact, she was so truly delicate that
she could never endure the powerful odour of carnations, the musk of
lilacs, the feverish sweetness of hyacinths, and was only at ease with
the scentless blossoms, like the marguerites and the periwinkles.

Once more the Abbe, with the cotton, dried the anointed parts, and
slipped the little tuft into another of the cornets.

Then Monseigneur, descending to the closed mouth, through which the
faint breath was now scarcely perceptible, made upon the lower lip the
sign of the cross.

"_Per istam sanctam unctionem, et suam piissimam misericordiam,
indulgeat tibi Dominus quidquid per gustum deliquisti_."

This time it was the pardon for the base gratifications of taste,
greediness, too great a desire for wine, or for sweets; but especially
the forgiveness for sins of the tongue, that universally guilty member,
the provoker, the poisoner, the inventor of quarrels, the inciter to
wars, which makes one utter words of error and falsehood which at length
obscure even the heavens. Yet her whole mouth was only a chalice of
innocence. She had never had the vice of gluttony, for she had taught
herself, like Elizabeth, to eat whatever was set before her, without
paying great attention to her food. And if it were true that she lived
in error, it was the fault of her dream which had placed her there, the
hope of a beyond, the consolation of what was invisible, and all the
world of enchantment which her ignorance had created and which had made
of her a saint.

The Abbe having dried the lips, folded the bit of cotton in the fourth
white cornet.

At last Monseigneur anointed first the right and then the left palms of
the two little ivory-like hands, l