During these months Aglaë had been living a life of such whole-hearted repentance that our dear Lord had taken her into great grace; and now, by an exquisite, divine bit of indulgence—one of those flashes of hot sympathy that come straight from the Sacred Human Heart of Him in heaven to some poor broken human heart on earth—He sent an Angel to tell her that her Boniface’s body was returning to Rome, and that she could go and meet it. So Aglaë, in her sombre penitential dress, her beautiful face covered with a veil, went forth, and, at a given place, saw the little procession approaching from the sea. There was no danger for her in looking at the beloved features now. Very quiet and strong she seems to have been as she met the wayfarers, bade them pause with their holy burden, and then led them back to her own house. There, where he and she had loved and sinned, she received him who was to leave her no more. Those who had brought him told her of his glorious end, and she thanked the Lord for it again—for the angel had not let her wait so long for the story. And when she had shown her gratitude by most loving hospitality and precious gifts to those who had brought his body, they went away and left her alone with her beloved. Ask any loving woman what she did then. Which of us would not place our dear tortured dead in our hall of honour, and burn sweet spices round them, and light tall tapers and fill the place with every fragrance and loveliness that the garden has to give? All this, we may be sure, Aglaë did for Boniface; but she did that from which most women are debarred. She turned her palace into a church for his tomb, and prayed near it till she died; and then the poor and suffering, who had been her one care from the day of her conversion, came there and prayed for her soul. But we know that that went straight to heaven.