“A boy’s desolate little figure,—with uplifted hands clasped appealingly and laid against the shut cathedral door, and face hidden and pressed hard upon those hands, as though in mute and inconsolable despair....
‘My poor child, what troubles you? Why are you here all alone, and weeping at this late hour? Have you no home?—no parents?’
“Slowly the boy turned round, still resting his small delicate hands against the oaken door of the Cathedral, and with the tears yet wet upon his cheeks, smiled. What a sad face he had!—worn and weary, yet beautiful!—what eyes, heavy with the dews of sorrow, yet tender even in pain! Startled by the mingled purity and grief on so young a countenance, the Cardinal retreated for a moment in amaze,—then, approaching more closely, he repeated his former question with increased interest and tenderness—
‘Why are you weeping here alone?’
‘Because I am left alone to weep!’ said the boy, answering in a soft voice of vibrating and musical melancholy. ‘For me, the world is empty!... I should have rested here within,—but it is closed against me!’
‘The doors are always locked at night, my child,’ returned the Cardinal, ‘but I can give you shelter. Will you come with me?’
‘Will I come with you? Nay, but I see you are a Cardinal of the Church, and it is I should ask ‘will you receive me?’ You do not know who I am—nor where I came from, and I, alas! may not tell you! I am alone; all—all alone,—for no one knows me in the world;—I am quite poor and friendless, and have nothing wherewith to pay you for your kindly shelter—I can only bless you!’”
Thus the second coming of Christ, according to Marie Corelli.
Manuel is then taken entirely under the protection of Cardinal Bonpré, and the two become inseparable. At all times the lad talks with wonderful eloquence and power—as Marie Corelli thinks Christ would talk if He were a child amongst us, and as He did talk when astonishing the learned doctors of law in Jerusalem. Before he and the Cardinal leave the Hotel Poitiers a miracle is performed. In Rouen there is a lad, Fabien Doucet, who has a bent spine and a useless leg. The unbelieving Patoux youngsters bring little Fabien to the Cardinal, and ask him to cure the lad. Beside the Cardinal stands Manuel. The incident is introduced by Marie Corelli in order to emphasize her own belief in the power of prayer—prayer that is sincere, the expression of faith that is true. The story of the miracle is very beautiful, especially for the spirit in which the good Cardinal performs the duty that the children ask of him. He addresses Fabien:
“My poor child, I want you to understand quite clearly how sorry I am for you, and how willingly I would do anything in the world to make you a strong, well, and happy boy. But you must not fancy that I can cure you. I told your little friends yesterday that I was not a saint, such as you read about in story-books,—and that I could not work miracles, because I am not worthy to be so filled with the Divine Spirit as to heal with a touch like the better servants of our Blessed Lord. Nevertheless I firmly believe that if God saw that it was good for you to be strong and well, He would find ways to make you so. Sometimes sickness and sorrow are sent to us for our advantage,—sometimes even death comes to us for our larger benefit, though we may not understand how it is so till afterwards. But in heaven everything will be made clear; and even our griefs will be turned into joys,—do you understand?”