“And when one evening,” says his friend, “I remarked that these little miracles clearly proved the existence of a divine Artificer: ‘For me, I do not believe in God’ declared the scientist, repeating for the last time his famous and paradoxical profession of faith: ‘I do not believe in God, because I see Him in all things and everywhere.’” Another day he expressed his firm and profound conviction to the same friend, in a slightly different form. “God is Light!” he said dreamily.—“And you always see Him shining?” “No,” he said suddenly, “God does not shine; He obtrudes Himself.” The man who thus bows before God has truly attained, on the heights of human knowledge, what we may call with him the threshold of eternal life. To him God sends His angels to open the gates, that he may enter by the straight paths of the Gospel and the Church. After the death of Mme. Fabre in 1912, a nursing Sister of the Congregation of Saint-Roch de Viviers was installed at the Harmas; her name was Sister Adrienne. The old man appreciated her services so greatly that he was overcome with dejection by the very thought that she might be recalled by her superiors, according to the rule of her Order, after the lapse of a certain period of time. And he would gratefully press her hand when the good Sister sought to relieve his anxiety and inspire him with the hope that she would be allowed to remain in his service till the end of his days. He found her simplicity, her delicacy, her good nature, and her devotion so delightful that he could not refrain from telling her so plainly in the direct, forcible manner familiar to him: “You are invaluable, Sister; you are admirable. I love religion as you practise it.” “He has often told me,” she writes, “that when he could not sleep at night, he used to pray, to think of God, and address to Him a prayer which he would himself compose.” In the spring of 1914 the aged naturalist, who was more than ninety years of age, felt that his strength was failing more perceptibly, so that the doctors diagnosed a fatal outcome in the near future. On receiving the news of this alarming condition, Monseigneur the Archbishop of Avignon hastened to the Harmas. The invalid expressed his delight and gratitude for the visit. Their relations were so cordial that the prelate decided to continue them by a series of admirable letters which have fortunately been published. In these letters, with great delicacy, Monseigneur Latty avoided all that might run contrary to the naturalist’s opinions, and very gently endeavoured to induce him to die as a Christian. To draw him more surely to the light that shines from the Cross and the grace which raises the soul above itself, he asks him to recite every evening, in unison with him, the beautiful prayer of the dying Saviour, which he calls “the prayer of the heights,” the height of Golgotha, the height of life: In manus tuus Domine commendo spiritum meum. (Into Thy hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit.)