model of mere prettiness--the only
type they could understand--by Melanie at La Salette and Bernadette at
Lourdes".

"Well, I, who am no visionary, and who must appeal to my imagination to
picture Her at all, I fancy I discern Her under the forms and
expressions of the cathedral itself; the features are a little confused
in the pale splendour of the great rose window that blazes behind Her
head like a nimbus. She smiles, and Her eyes, all light, have the
incomparable effulgence of those pure sapphires which light up the
entrance to the nave. Her slight form is diffused in a clear robe of
flame, striped and ribbed like the drapery of the so-called Berthe. Her
face is white like mother-of-pearl, and her hair, a circular tissue of
sunshine, radiates in threads of gold. She is the Bride of Canticles.
_Pulchra ut Luna, electa ut Sol_.

"The church which is Her dwelling-place, and one with Her, is luminous
with Her grace; the gems of the windows sing to Her praise; the slender
columns shooting upwards, from the pavement to the roof, symbolize Her
aspirations and desires; the floor tells of Her humility; the vaulting,
meeting to form a canopy over Her, speaks of Her charity; the stones and
glass echo hymns to Her. There is nothing, down to the military aspect
of certain details of the sanctuary, the chivalrous touch which is a
reminiscence of the Crusades--the sword-blades and shields of the lancet
windows and the roses, the helm-shaped arches, the coat of mail that
clothes the older spire, the iron trellis-pattern of some of the
panes--nothing that does not arouse a memory of the passage at Prime and
the hymn at Lauds in the minor office of the Virgin, and typify the
_terribilis ut castrorum acies ordonata_, the privilege She possesses
when She chooses to use it, of being 'terrible as an army arrayed for
battle.'

"But She does not often choose to exert here, I believe; this cathedral
mirrors rather Her inexhaustible sweetness, Her indivisible glory."

"Ah! Much shall be forgiven you because you have loved much," cried
Madame Bavoil.

And Durtal having risen to say good-bye, she kissed him affectionately,
maternally, and said,--

"We will pray with all our might, our friend, that God may enlighten you
and show you your path, may lead you Himself into the way you ought to
go."

"I hope, Monsieur l'Abbe, that during my absence your rheumatism will
grant you a little respite," said Durtal, pressing the old priest's
han