t, when he reached his
bedroom, he threw himself in his clothes upon his bed, clasping his
hands to his ears, and pressing his face to the pillow, in order that he
might shut out all sound and sight. And thus stilling his senses he fell
into death-like slumber.

VI

The next day was Sunday. As the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy
Cross fell on a high mass day, Abbe Mouret desired to celebrate the
festival with especial solemnity. He was now full of extraordinary
devotion for the Cross, and had replaced the image of the Immaculate
Conception in his bedroom by a large crucifix of black wood, before
which he spent long hours in worship. To exalt the Cross, to plant it
before him, above all else, in a halo of glory, as the one object of
his life, gave him the strength he needed to suffer and to struggle. He
sometimes dreamed of hanging there himself, in Jesus's place, his head
crowned with thorns, nails driven through his hands and feet, and
his side rent by spears. What a coward he must be to complain of an
imaginary wound, when God bled there from His whole body, and yet
preserved on His lips the blessed smile of the Redemption! And however
unworthy it might be, he offered up his wound as a sacrifice, ended by
falling into ecstasy, and believing that blood did really stream from
his brow and side and limbs. Those were hours of relief, for he fancied
that all the impurity within him flowed forth from his wounds. And he
then usually drew himself up with the heroism of a martyr, and longed to
be called upon to suffer the most frightful tortures, in order that he
might bear them without a quiver of the flesh.

At early dawn that day he knelt before the crucifix, and grace came upon
him abundantly as dew. He made no effort, he simply fell upon his knees,
to receive it in his heart, to be permeated with it to the marrow of his
bones in sweetest and most refreshing fulness. On the previous day he
had prayed for grace in agony, and it had not come. At times it long
remained deaf to his entreaties, and then, when he simply clasped his
hands, in quite childlike fashion, it flowed down to succour him.
It came upon him that morning like a benediction, bringing perfect
serenity, absolute trusting faith. He forgot his anguish of the previous
days, and surrendered himself wholly to the triumphant joy of the Cross.
He seemed to be cased in such impenetrable armour that the world's most
deadly blows would glide off from it har