This reminiscence seemed to rouse María.
“Yes—I am reconciled to the place. The mere sound of your name, my most blessed brother, fills me with joy. May your glorified spirit come to succour mine.”
“Amen, amen!” María kissed the crucifix.
“I wish all I possess—if I possess anything—to be given to the poor. You and my husband will agree about that. I wish to be buried by my brother’s side, and let Masses be said over my body at the altar of the saint I most venerate: St. Luis Gonzaga.”
“Yes, my beloved daughter. It cannot matter to so noble a soul that the altar is at Suertebella.”
“Nothing matters, I forgive with all my heart.—I am reconciled to my Saviour and can hope!”
Paoletti with outstretched hands and half-closed eyes solemnly, slowly pronounced absolution.
“Now that you are reconciled to God,” he said with some emotion, “you can receive the Holy Sacrament.”