The end of a great career was now approaching. In the summer of 1707, a long and painful illness nearly carried Mgr. de Laval away, but he recovered, and convalescence was followed by manifest improvement. This soul which, like the lamp of the sanctuary, was consumed in the tabernacle of the Most High, revived suddenly at the moment of emitting its last gleams, then suddenly died out in final brilliance. The improvement in the condition of the venerable prelate was ephemeral; the illness which had brought him to the threshold of the tomb proved fatal some weeks later. He died in the midst of his labours, happy in proving by the very origin of the disease which brought about his death, his great love for the Saviour. It was, in fact, in prolonging on Good Friday his pious stations in his chilly church (for our ancestors did not heat their churches, even in seasons of rigorous cold), that he received in his heel the frost-bite of which he died. Such is the name the writers of the time give to this sore; in our days, when science has defined certain maladies formerly misunderstood, it is permissible to suppose that this so-called frost-bite was nothing else than diabetic gangrene. No illusion could be cherished, and the venerable old man, who had not, so to speak, passed a moment of his existence without thinking of death, needed to adapt himself to the idea less than any one else. In order to have nothing more to do than to prepare for his last hour he hastened to settle a question which concerned his seminary: he reduced definitely to eight the number of pensions which he had established in it in 1680. This done, it remained for him now only to suffer and die. The ulcer increased incessantly and the continual pains which he felt became atrocious when it was dressed. His intolerable sufferings drew from him, nevertheless, not cries and complaints, but outpourings of love for God. Like Saint Vincent de Paul, whom the tortures of his last malady could not compel to utter other words than these: "Ah, my Saviour! my good Saviour!" Mgr. de Laval gave vent to these words only: "O, my God! have pity on me! O God of Mercy!" and this cry, the summary of his whole life: "Let Thy holy will be done!" One of the last thoughts of the dying man was to express the sentiment of his whole life, humility. Some one begged him to imitate the majority of the saints, who, on their death-bed, uttered a few pious words for the edification of their spiritual children. "They were saints," he replied, "and I am a sinner." A speech worthy of Saint Vincent de Paul, who, about to appear before God, replied to the person who requested his blessing, "It is not for me, unworthy wretch that I am, to bless you." The fervour with which he received the last sacraments aroused the admiration of all the witnesses of this supreme hour. They almost expected to see this holy soul take flight for its celestial mansion. As