"She threw herself down before the image of the blessed Virgin, our Lady of Sorrows; and it seemed to her that the eyes of the Madonna rested upon her sadly, and that she read in them these words:
"'Endure with patience, even as I have done, O daughter of Eve, till the day when your mourning shall be turned into gladness.'
"And the unhappy mother cried anew:
"'But when, when will that blessed day come, O Mother of God?'
"One day the wretched mother, having prayed with more than her usual fervor, having shed, if possible, more tears than was her wont, fell asleep in the church, exhausted with her grief. The sexton shut the doors without noticing her. It must have been about midnight when she awoke. A ray of moonlight illuminating the altar revealed to her that she was yet in the church. Far from being terrified, she rather rejoiced at her situation, if such a thing as joy could be said to find any place in her sad heart.
"'Now,' said she, 'I can pray alone with God, alone with the Blessed Virgin, alone with myself!'
"Just as she was going to kneel down a low sound made her raise her head.
"She saw an old man, who, entering by one of the side doors of the sacristy, made his way to the altar with a lighted taper in his hand. She saw with astonishment that it was the former sexton, dead twenty years before. She felt no fear at the sight, for every sentiment of her breast had been swallowed up in grief. The specter climbed the altar steps, lighted the candles, and made the customary preparations for the celebration of a requiem mass. When he turned she saw that his eyes were fixed and expressionless, like those of a statue. He re-entered the sacristy, but reappeared almost at once, followed this time by a venerable priest bearing a chalice and clothed in full vestments. His great eyes, wide open, were filled with sadness; his movements were like those of an automaton. She recognized the old priest, twenty years dead, who had baptized her and given her her first communion. Far from being terrified by this marvel, the poor mother, wrapped up in her sorrow, concluded that her old friend had been touched by her despair, and had broken the bonds of the sepulchre for her sake.
"All was somber, grim, and silent in this mass thus celebrated and ministered by the dead. The candles cast a feeble light like that of a dying lamp. At the moment when the bell of the 'Sanctus,' striking with a dull sound, as when a bone is broken by the grave-digger in some old cemetery, announced the descent of Christ upon the altar, the door of the sacristy opened anew and admitted a procession of little children, marching two and two, who traversed the choir and filed into the space to the right of the altar. These children, the oldest of whom had had scarce six years of life upon earth, wore crowns of immortelles and carried in their hands, some of them baskets of flowers, some of them little vases of perfume, others cups of gold and silver filled with a transparent liquid. They stepped lightly, and a celestial rapture shone upon their faces. One only, a little girl at the end of the procession, appeared to follow the others painfully, loaded down as she was with two great jars which she could hardly drag. Her little feet, reddening under the pressure, were lifted heavily, and her crown of immortelles seemed withered. The poor mother strove to reach out her arms, to utter a cry of joy on recognizing her own little one, but she found that she could neither move nor speak. She watched all the children file past her into the place to the left of the altar, and she recognized several who had but lately died. When her own child, bending under her burden, passed before her, she noticed that at every step the two jars besprinkled the floor with the water that filled them to the brim. When the little one's eyes met those of her mother, she saw in their depths a mingling of sadness, tenderness, and reproach. The poor woman strove to clasp her in her arms, but sight and consciousness alike fled from her. When she recovered from her swoon the church was empty.
"In a monastery about a league from the village, dwelt a monk who was renowned for his sanctity.