Clear, frail and silvern the words fell from Mireille's lips.
"Benedicta tu!"
The blessing that Louise and all others had withheld, now fell like a solemn prophecy from the innocent's lips, rang like a divine decree in that pure voice that had been hushed so long.
Mireille was healed! Healed through Chérie and her child of sorrow and shame.
A wave of exalted emotion overwhelmed Louise, and she sank on her knees beside Mireille, repeating the hallowed benediction.
With flowing tears Chérie, clasping her baby in her arms, wavered and trembled like a holy picture seen in moonlit waters....
And so farewell—farewell to Mireille, Chérie, Louise.
They are still in their Belgian village awaiting the dawn of their deliverance.
Around them the fury of War still rages, and the end of their sorrow is not yet.