no trace of 'Bosom of Election' in the
Litany of the Blessed Virgin as printed in English Catholic
works.--ED.

How many times had not the Litany of the Virgin, recited in common in
the seminary chapel, left the young man with broken limbs and void head,
as if from some great fall! And since his departure from the seminary,
Abbe Mouret had grown to love the Virgin still more. He gave to her that
impassioned cult which to Brother Archangias savoured of heresy. In his
opinion it was she who would save the Church by some matchless prodigy
whose near appearance would entrance the world. She was the only miracle
of our impious age--the blue-robed lady that showed herself to little
shepherdesses, the whiteness that gleamed at night between two clouds,
her veil trailing over the low thatched roofs of peasant homes. When
Brother Archangias coarsely asked him if he had ever espied her, he
simply smiled and tightened his lips as if to keep his secret. Truth to
say, he saw her every night. She no longer seemed a playful sister or a
lovely pious maiden; she wore a bridal robe, with white flowers in
her hair; and from beneath her drooping eyelids fell moist glances of
hopeful promise that set his cheeks aglow. He could feel that she was
coming, that she was promising to delay no longer; that she said to him,
'Here I am, receive me!' Thrice a day when the _Angelus_ rang out--at
break of dawn, in the fulness of midday, and at the gentle fall of
twilight--he bared his head and said an _Ave_ with a glance around him
as if to ascertain whether the bell were not at last announcing Mary's
coming. He was five-and-twenty. He awaited her.

During the month of May the young priest's expectation was fraught with
joyful hope. To La Teuse's grumblings he no longer paid the slightest
attention. If he remained so late praying in the church, it was because
he entertained the mad idea that the great golden Virgin would at last
come down from her pedestal. And yet he stood in awe of that Virgin, so
like a princess in her mien. He did not love all the Virgins alike, and
this one inspired him with supreme respect. She was, indeed, the
Mother of God, she showed the fertile development of form, the majestic
countenance, the strong arms of the Divine Spouse bearing Jesus. He
pictured her thus, standing in the midst of the heavenly court, the
train of her royal mantle trailing among the stars; so far above him,
and of such exceeding might, that he