"How could I have forgotten it, my child, since Sister Beatrix has never stopped being the custodian of the holy basilica? She has stayed among us till today, and will remain for a long time, I hope, a subject of edification for the whole community, since, apart from the protection of the Holy Virgin, we know of no surer support under heaven." "I'm not talking about her," Beatrix broke in, sighing bitterly, "I'm talking about another Beatrix who ended up living a sinful life, and who occupied the same post sixteen years ago." "God will not punish you for those demented words," said the nun as she drew her to her breast. "The distress and the illness that have affected your mind, have troubled your memory with these sad visions. I have lived in this convent for more than sixteen years, and I have never known anyone in charge of looking after the holy basilica apart from Sister Beatrix. Being as you are determined to perform an act of worship for Our Lady, while I'm making a bed up for you, go, my sister, go to the foot of the tabernacle. You will find Beatrix there already, and you will recognize her easily, for divine goodness has allowed her not to lose in ageing a single one of her youthful graces. I'll come back for you presently and won't leave you then till you're completely well again." Having spoken these words the keeper of the gate made her way back to the cloister. Beatrix stumbled as far as the steps leading up to the church, knelt down on the approach to them and banged her head against it. Then she grew a little bolder, got up, and, from pillar to pillar, went up to the grille where she once more fell upon her knees. Through the cloud that had darkened her vision she had discerned the sister custodian standing in front of the tabernacle. Little by little the sister drew nearer to her as she made her daily inspection of the holy place, rekindling the flame in burnt-out candles, or replacing the garlands of the day before with new garlands. Beatrix could not believe her eyes. This sister was herself, not as age, vice and despair had made her, but as she must have been in the innocent days of her youth. Was it an illusion produced by remorse? Was it a divine punishment, a foretaste of those reserved for her by a celestial curse? Racked by doubt, she hid her head in her hands, and rested it motionless against the bars of the grille, stammering from quivering lips the most tender of her prayers from time gone by. And yet the sister custodian kept on moving. Already the folds of her clothes had brushed against the bars. Beatrix, overcome with emotion, did not dare even to breathe.