“The daughter of a viceroy once climbed out of a palace window at night to take the veil of Santa Rosa.
“When the Pope was deliberating her canonization, he was overwhelmed by a rain of roses; when it was finally celebrated, the streets of Lima were paved with silver bars.
“In 1720, when they dug to build her convent, a strong odor of roses emanated from the ground.
“We keep her roses blooming throughout the year; they grow from the same roots as those she cared for; the rest of the time we spend in embroidery and prayer.”
Such a wonderful voice!
The Sister Margarita pressed a parchment-covered book close against the netting.
“Here is a true life of Santa Rosa. It has never left this monastery. When you read it, you will understand why I have devoted my life to God through the mediation of our glorious Saint, our Patron, our Rosa de Lima.... She stood upon these stones in the courtyard where I now stand. Can you see why a stone has not been changed?... There is no word in this book which is not true. I know it by heart. I will give it to you....
“Es católica?” The voice was suddenly directed toward Rosa Mercédes.
SANTA ROSA DE LIMA, FROM HET WONDER LEVEN VAN DE H. ROSA, BRUSSEL, 1668.