gs and feet, which for a long time had caused him great pain,
became so swollen and inflamed that every step was torture. Ulcers,
which opened and left gaping wounds, next made their appearance. It
was said that in earlier years he had taken the place of an
unfortunate man who had been condemned to the galleys and who was in
consequence on the verge of despair, and that the malady from which he
suffered had been caused by the heavy fetters with which his legs had
been chained to the rowers' bench. It was several months, ran the
tale, before his heroic action had been discovered and he was set at
liberty, to bear for the rest of his life the penalty of his noble
deed. When asked if this story were true, Vincent would change the
subject as quickly as possible--which to those who knew how eagerly he
always disclaimed, if he could, any action likely to bring honor to
himself, seemed a convincing proof of its truth. With the greatest
difficulty he was induced during the last years of his life to have a
fire in his room and to use an extra coverlet, though he reproached
himself bitterly in his last conferences to the Mission Priests and
the Sisters of Charity "for this immortification."

But there were sufferings harder than those of the body. Mazarin was
still in power; the "accursed barter of bishoprics" was still going
on; and Vincent was forced to witness the very abuses against which he
had fought so bravely during the brief time of his influence at Court.

The year 1660 brought two great sorrows: the death of M. Portail, the
oldest and best beloved of Vincent's companions at St. Lazare, and
that of Louise le Gras, the devoted Superior of the Sisters of Charity
and the woman who would become known as St. Louise de Marillac. "You
are going a little before me," he wrote to the latter when he heard
that her life was despaired of, "but I shall meet you soon in Heaven."
He was unable to go to her, for he could scarcely walk and was racked
with fever. He would struggle on his crutches as far as the chapel to
hear the Mass that he could no longer say and then go back again to
his room, where he sat at a little table, working to the last, with a
gentle smile of welcome for all who sought him.

The letters written during the last days of Vincent's life are full of
the same good sense, the same lucid clearness of thought, the same
sympathy and knowledge of the human heart that always characterized
him. Two months before his deat