The window is open. I am writing near the bed where our saint is dying. The weather is that of Paradise, as Picciola says――flowers and birds, songs and verdure. It is spring, and death is here, ready to strike. DECEMBER 25. _Sic nos amantem, quis non redamaret?_ Ellen departed to heaven while René was singing these words[27] after the Midnight Mass. This death is life and gladness. I am by _her_, near to that which remains to us of Ellen. Lucy and I have adorned her for the tomb; we have clothed her in the white lace robe which was her mother’s present to her, and arranged for the last time her rich and abundant hair, which Karl himself has cut. It is, then, true that all is over, and that this mouth is closed for ever. She died without suffering, after having received the Beloved of her soul. What a night! I had a presentiment of this departure. For two days past I have lived in her room, my eyes always upon her, and listening to her affectionate recommendations. On the 23d we spoke of St. Chantal――that soul so ardent and so strong in goodness, so heroic among all others, who had a full portion of crosses, and who knew so truly how to love and suffer. On the 24th a swallow came and warbled on the marble chimney-piece. “I shall fly away like her, but I shall go to God,” murmured Ellen. At two o’clock the same day her confessor came; we left her for a few minutes, and I had a sort of fainting fit which frightened René. Karl’s grief quite overcame me. Towards three o’clock Ellen seemed to be a little stronger; she took her husband’s hand, and, in a voice of tenderness which still resounds in my ear, said to him slowly: “Remember that God remains to you, and that my soul will not leave you. Love God alone; serve him in the way he wills. Robert and I will watch over your happiness.” She hesitated a little; all her soul looked from her eyes: “Tell me that _you will be a priest_; that, instead of folding yourself up in your regrets, you will spend yourself for the salvation of souls, you will spread the love of Him who gives me strength to leave you with joy to go to him!” Karl was on his knees. “I promise it before God!” he said. The pale face of the dying one became tinged with color, and she joined her hands in a transport of gratitude; then she requested me to write at her dictation to Lizzy, Isa, Margaret, and Kate. Her poor in Ireland were not forgotten. She became animated, and seemed to revive, breathing with more ease than for some time past. She received “all the dear neighbors,” said a few heartfelt words to each, asked for the blessing of our mother, who would not absent herself any more, and shared our joys and sorrows. The doctor came; René went back with him. “It will be to-morrow, if she can last until then.” O my God! And the night began――this solemn night of the hosanna of the angels, of the Redeemer’s birth. I held one of her hands, Karl the other; my mother and René were near us, our brothers