“Monsieur, all that you say is true,” replied the young girl, artlessly.
“How can you know, Minna?” asked the old pastor.
“Ah! my father, had you been with us this morning on the summit of the Falberg, had you seen him praying, you would not ask me that question. You would say, like Monsieur Wilfrid, that he saw his Seraphita for the first time in our temple, ‘It is the Spirit of Prayer.’”
These words were followed by a moment’s silence.
“Ah, truly!” said Wilfrid, “she has nothing in common with the creatures who grovel upon this earth.”
“On the Falberg!” said the old pastor, “how could you get there?”
“I do not know,” replied Minna; “the way is like a dream to me, of which no more than a memory remains. Perhaps I should hardly believe that I had been there were it not for this tangible proof.”
She drew the flower from her bosom and showed it to them. All three gazed at the pretty saxifrage, which was still fresh, and now shone in the light of the two lamps like a third luminary.
“This is indeed supernatural,” said the old man, astounded at the sight of a flower blooming in winter.
“A mystery!” cried Wilfrid, intoxicated with its perfume.