The priest met her at the door of the antechamber. After putting off her cloak and her shoes, and saying a short prayer, she entered the sanctuary. Here, much had been altered since her last visit; the image of the goddess stood more on one side, and in the place of the black curtain, embroidered with silver, there was a sky-blue one, that fell in light, cloud-like folds. The soft floor was thickly strewn with white roses, which exhaled a delicious scent; and where formerly the altar had stood, a heavy tissue hung from the ceiling to the floor. “My daughter,” said Barbillus, “you are indeed blessed above other mortals. Fear not, even if the majesty of the divinity should at first appal you; do not tremble, though its glory should dazzle you. All that is sent from heaven is gracious; infinite favor, even though it should seem strange and terrible. If you truly love the all-merciful mother of the universe and her divine brother--if you are in earnest in your efforts to avert the strokes of Fate from the beloved youth, to whom you are about to devote your life, once and forever--be brave and steadfast! Submit to the inscrutable counsels of him, who rules heaven and earth. Give him truthful devotion and childlike obedience, and the wish of your faithful heart shall be triumphantly fulfilled.” Cornelia stood motionless. Her light dress and snow-white feet--barely covered by the border, the pale roses and her face, paler still--in the dim moonshiny light of the hanging-lamp, made a weird, though beautiful picture. The charm touched even the calculating priest--for a second he forgot to play his part; a ray of ardent admiration flashed from under his lashes. Only for an instant, but long enough for Cornelia to detect it. She started and drew herself up. She tried to persuade herself, that the dim flickering light or her own excited nerves had cheated her into such an impossible fancy. But do what she would, a shade of suspicion, a breath of distrust, lingered in her mind. “What am I to do?” she whispered. “Kneel down there,” said Barbillus, pointing to a cushion close to the curtain. “Pour out your soul unceasingly in prayer, and wait till the all-powerful god shall hear you.” He was quite himself again--the devoted minister, solemn, reverend and dignified in his sublime loftiness. Cornelia was reassured. Still, as if struck by a sudden idea, she went up to him trembling. “My lord and master,” she said with some agitation, “I do not know what it can be, that so unexpectedly troubles my soul. Am I indeed worthy to behold the infinite and all-merciful one with these sinful eyes? Is it possible? Is it conceivable?” “What--do you hesitate?” “Swear to me by all the immortals, by your own life and your hopes of bliss....”