Dear Kate, how good God is! This is the cry of my heart, crushed beneath the weight of its gratitude. Karl has been our Good Samaritan. If Berthe and Raoul could only hear him! What unction in his words!
He made his appearance like the angel of Providence amongst us. It was in the evening. René had gone to wait for him; we had heard no noise, when the door opened.... It was he! There was a moment of emotion and tears, and when he consented to bless us, and I saw him in the light, I understood the words of Gertrude: “He has found true happiness.” Then his Mass the next day, the Communion, and Thanksgiving said aloud, the chanting of the Magnificat and of the Lætatus—it was heaven. This impression still remains; thanks to a concurrence of circumstances in which I perceive the intervention of our good angels, the newly elect of the priesthood remains with us until the 20th—an unhoped-for and most precious favor. Alas! shall we see him again?
He has given me a little book which he had kept by permission of his superior; you are aware that this generous Karl despoiled himself of everything before giving himself also to God. This Basket of Eucharistic Flowers is full of sweetness to my heart. I find in it some verses on Picciola—not mine, but the flower—and the heavenly utterances of the pious Marie Jenna, my favorite poetess. Listen to this:
“Oui, cette vie en larmes est féconde;
J’ai peu vécu, j’ai déjà bien souffert.
Mon Dieu, j’ai soif, et les routes du monde
Ne me sont rien qu’une aride désert.
Mais à tes pieds mon âme se repose.
O tendre Ami, Divin Consolateur,
Qu’importe à moi de perdre toute chose,