One morning as they went out to their carriage Laure stopped to speak to a woman who crouched upon the edge of the pavement with a child in her arms. She bent down and touched the little one with her hand, and Mère Giraud, looking on, thought of pictures she had seen of the Blessed Virgin, and of lovely saints healing the sick.
"What is the matter?" asked Laure.
The woman looked down at the child and shivered.
"I do not know," she answered hoarsely. "Only we are ill, and God has forsaken us. We have not tasted food for two days."
Laure took something from her purse and laid it silently in the child's small, fevered hand. The woman burst into tears.
"Madame," she said, "it is a twenty-franc piece."
"Yes," said Laure gently. "When it is spent come to me again," and she went to her carriage.
"My child," said Mère Giraud, "it is you who are a saint. The good God did wisely in showering blessings upon you."
A few days longer she was happy, and then she awakened from her sleep one night, and found Laure standing at her bedside looking down at her and shuddering. She started up with an exclamation of terror.
"Mon Dieu!" she said. "What is it?"