flesh, as if tendered as an offering to himself. And
it was then he felt beloved: Mary was giving him her heart, her living
heart, even as it throbbed in her bosom, dripping with her rosy blood.

In all this there was no longer the imagery of devout passion, but a
material entity, a prodigy of affection which impelled him, when he was
praying before the engraving, to open out his hands in order that he
might reverently receive the heart that leaped from that immaculate
bosom. He could see it, hear it beat; he was loved, that heart was
beating for himself! His whole being quickened with rapture; he would
fain have kissed that heart, have melted in it, have lain beside it
within the depths of that open breast. Mary's love for him was an active
one; she desired him to be near her, to be wholly hers in the eternity
to come; her love was efficacious, too, she was ever solicitous for him,
watching over him everywhere, guarding him from the slightest breach of
his fidelity. She loved him tenderly, more than the whole of womankind
together, with a love as azure, as deep, as boundless as the sky itself.
Where could he ever find so delightful a mistress? What earthly caress
could be compared to the air in which he moved, the breath of Mary? What
mundane union or enjoyment could be weighed against that everlasting
flower of desire which grew unceasingly, and yet was never over-blown?
At this thought the _Magnificat_ would exhale from his mouth, like a
cloud of incense. He sang the joyful song of Mary, her thrill of joy at
the approach of her Divine Spouse. He glorified the Lord who overthrew
the mighty from their thrones, and who sent Mary to him, poor destitute
child that he was, dying of love on the cold tiled floor of his cell.

And when he had given all up to Mary--his body, his soul, his earthly
goods, and spiritual chattels--when he stood before her stripped, bare,
with all his prayers exhausted, there welled from his burning lips
the Virgin's litanies, with their reiterated, persistent, impassioned
appeals for heavenly succour. He fancied himself climbing a flight of
pious yearnings, which he ascended step by step at each bound of his
heart. First he called her 'Holy.' Next he called her 'Mother,' most
pure, most chaste, amiable, and admirable. And with fresh ardour he six
times proclaimed her maidenhood; his lips cooled and freshened each time
that he pronounced that name of 'Virgin,' which he coupled with power,
goodness,