Suddenly a great burst of singing drew my attention to the open space beyond the gleaming white church with its sharp-pointed towers, and I drew nearer, pushing my way through a dense multitude gathered to witness the procession of pilgrims and the Blessing of the Sick. In all the world there is no such sight as this, nothing that can stir the human soul so deeply. Inside the concourse, fringing the great crowds, lay the afflicted--on litters, on reclining chairs, on blankets spread over the ground; standing and kneeling, men, women and children from all lands and of all stations, pallid-faced, emaciated, suffering, dying, brought here to supplicate for help when all other help has failed them. "_Seigneur, nous vous adorons!_" chanted a priest with golden voice and ten thousand tongues responded: "_Seigneur, nous vous adorons!_" "_Jesus, Fils de Marie, ayez pitie de nous!_" came the inspired cry. "_Jesus, Fils de Marie, ayez pitie de nous!_" crashed the answer. "_Hosanna! Hosanna au Fils de David!_" "_Hosanna! Hosanna au Fils de David!_" thundered the multitude, and the calm hills resounded. It was an immense, an indescribable moment, not to be resisted. I felt myself literally in the presence of God, and choking, almost dying with emotion, I waited for what was to come. Suddenly at the far end of the crowd a great shouting started and spread like a powder-train, with a violent clapping of hands. "A miracle! A miracle!" the cries proclaimed. They told me afterwards that five miraculous cures were accomplished at this moment, but I knew nothing about it. My eyes were closed. I had fallen to my knees in the dust and was sobbing my heart out, not in grief but in joy, for _I knew_ that all was well with me now and would be in the days to come. I knew that Christopher would be restored to me, and that I would be allowed to make him happy. There would be no more doubt or fear in either of us--only love. _I knew this!_ As I knelt there filled with a spirit of infinite faith and serenity, it seemed as if, above the tumult of the crowd, I heard my name spoken gently--"Penelope!" I knew, of course, that it could not be a real voice, for I was a stranger here, yet there was nothing disturbing to me in this illusion. It came rather like a comforting benediction, as if some higher part of me had inwardly expressed approval of my prayerful aspirations, and had confirmed my belief that Christopher would be restored to me. "Penelope!" the voice spoke again, this time with unmistakable distinctness, and now I opened my eyes and saw Seraphine standing before me. "Seraphine! Where did you come from? I thought you were in America--in New York." Smiling tenderly she helped me to my feet and led me away from the multitude. "Let us go where we can talk quietly," she said. "We will go to the hospice, where I am staying," I replied, not marvelling very much, but more than ever filled with the knowledge that God was guiding and protecting me.