"'My poor sister,' I said, putting my arm round her neck. 'This is the dreadful moment; but let us not weep; we must tell him, he must be prepared for the sacraments. Do you feel strong enough for the duty, or shall I do it?' 'Yes; you do it, Eugénie--you do it!' She was stifled with sobs. I passed immediately to the bed of the invalid, and, praying God to sustain me, I leant over him, and kissed him on the moist forehead. 'My brother,' I said to him, 'I want to tell you something. I have written for you to the Prince of Hohenlohe. You know he has done some miracles of healing. God works by whom He wills and how He wills. He is, above all, the sovereign healer of the sick. Have you not confidence in him? Supreme confidence' (or _full_, I do not remember which). 'Well, my friend, let us ask in all confidence His mercy; let us unite in prayers, we with the Church, you in your heart. We are going to have Mass with Communion. You will have it with us. Jesus Christ went to the sick, you know.' 'Oh! I wish it much, I wish to unite in your prayers.' 'That is right, my brother; the Curé is coming, and you will confess. It will not pain you to talk to the Curé?' 'Not at all.' The Curé came. Maurice asked him to wait a little, not being quite ready. We saw him entirely collected and meditative. Alas! last meditation of his soul! In about ten minutes he called for the priest, and remained with him for nearly half-an-hour, conversing, we were told, with all the lucidity and calmness of mind he had when in health. We made the arrangements necessary for the Communion. His wife, with the sadness and piety of an angel, recited to him the prayers for the Communion, which are so beautiful, and those for the dying, which are so touching; then he asked for those for the extreme unction, calmly and naturally, as for a thing expected. "He was hungry and faint, and asked me for his cordial, which I brought him. As he perspired much, I said to him, 'My dear, do not put out your arm; I will feed you like an infant.' A smile came upon his lips, where I laid the spoon, where I made to pass the last food he took. Thus I have been able to serve him once more, to give him my care another time. He was given back to me dying. I marked it as a favour of God, granted to my love as a sister, that I have rendered to this dear brother the last services to the soul and body, since I prepared him for the last sacraments, and made his last nourishment: food for both lives. This seems nothing, is nothing, in fact, for any one else. It is for me alone to observe it, and to thank Providence for these relations taken up again with my dear Maurice before he left us. Sad and indefinable compensation for so many months of passive friendship! Was I wrong in wishing to serve him? Who knows?...