The Abbé is inclined to resent the rebuke, but only for a moment. The next, abashed, he admits its justice, and craves pardon. The incident is the turning point in Vergniaud’s life. He shortly afterwards writes to the Cardinal that he is moved to say things that he has never said before, and that it is possible he may astonish and perchance scandalize Paris.
“What inspires me I do not know,—perhaps your well-deserved reproach of the other day,—perhaps the beautiful smile of the angel that dwells in Donna Sovrani’s eyes,—perhaps the chance meeting with your Rouen foundling on the stairs as I was flying away from your just wrath.”
He concludes by requesting the Cardinal to come two days later to hear him preach at Notre Dame de Lorette.
In his letter to the Cardinal, the Abbé Vergniaud mentions that Manuel has given him a rose, and the mention of this to the child-Christ gives us a charming fancy as to the floral beauties of Heaven.
“Flowers,” said the Cardinal, commenting on the gift, “are like visible messages from God. Messages written in all the brightest and loveliest colors! I never gather one without finding out that it has something to say to me.”
“There is a legend,” said Manuel, “that tells how a poor girl who has lost every human creature she loved on earth, had a rose-tree she was fond of, and every day she found upon it just one bloom. And though she longed to gather the flower for herself she would not do so, but always placed it before the picture of the Christ. And God saw her do this, as He sees everything. At last, quite suddenly, she died, and when she found herself in heaven, there were such crowds and crowds of angels about her that she was bewildered, and could not find her way. All at once she saw a pathway edged with roses before her, and one of the angels said, ‘there are all the roses you gave to our Lord on earth, and He has made them into a pathway for you which will lead you straight to those you love!’ And so with great joy she followed the windings of the path, seeing her roses blossoming all the way, and she found all those whom she had loved and lost on earth waiting to welcome her at the end!”
Here is another sweet thought which Marie Corelli gives us in the words of Manuel:
“You know now,” he tells Angela Sovrani, “because your wise men are beginning to prove it, that you can in very truth send a message to heaven. Heaven is composed of millions of worlds. ‘In My Father’s house are many mansions!’ And from all worlds to all worlds, and from mansion to mansion, the messages flash! And there are those who receive them, with such directness as can admit of no error! And your wise men might have known this long ago if they had believed their Master’s word, ‘Whatsoever is whispered in secret shall be proclaimed on the housetops.’ But you will all find out soon that it is true, and that everything you say, and that every prayer you utter, God hears.”
“My mother is in Heaven,” said Angela wistfully, “I wish I could send her a message!”