"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.