“Sister,” said Rose, in a faint voice, “do you see the archangel—as in our dreams, in Germany?”
“Yes—three days ago—he appeared to us.”
“He is come to fetch us.”
“Alas! will our death save our poor mother from purgatory?”
“Angel! blessed angel! pray God for our mother—and for us!” Until now, stupefied with amazement and sorrow, almost suffocated with sobs, Gabriel had not been able to utter a word. But at these words of the orphans, he exclaimed: “Dear children, why doubt of your mother’s salvation? Oh! never did a purer soul ascend to its Creator. Your mother? I know from my adopted father, that her virtues and courage were the admiration of all who knew her. Oh! believe me; God has blessed her.”
“Do you hear, sister?” cried Rose, as a ray of celestial joy illumined for an instant the livid faces of the orphans. “God has blessed our mother.”
“Yes, yes,” resumed Gabriel; “banish these gloomy ideas. Take courage, poor children! You must not die. Think of your father.”
“Our father?” said Blanche, shuddering; and she continued, with a mixture of reason and wild excitement, which would have touched the soul of the most indifferent: “Alas! he will not find us on his return. Forgive us, father! we did not think to do any harm. We wished, like you, to do something generous—to help our governess.”
“And we did not think to die so quickly, and so soon. Yesterday, we were gay and happy.”
“Oh, good angel! you will appear to our father, even as you have appeared to us. You will tell him that, in dying—the last thought of his children—was of him.”