"Come now, I want you to write and invite him to meet you at your hotel, to dine with him, and to forgive him." A terrible inner controversy ensued, and the Princess became ill over it. One can scarcely imagine what it all meant to her, and yet thousands have to go through the same. Calling one day, the Maréchale found her in a cloud of cigarette smoke. "Princess, how dare you smoke like this?" "Well, I am surrounded by a thousand devils, blue, black and yellow. You have been neglecting me." A ceaseless conflict was raging in her breast, and ere they parted that day she wrote a letter and said she would send it. The Maréchale called again, and found that the letter had not been sent. Then the crisis came. "Princess, you are lost. If you do not forgive, your heavenly Father will not forgive you." "I cannot, I cannot." She was in agony of soul. "Princess," said the Maréchale, "are you perfect? From the little I know of you I should think you have a very bad temper." "It is true, it is true." "Your sins have not been his, but they are sins before God, and have caused suffering to others. If you want God to forgive your bad temper, you must forgive him." The Maréchale prayed, and bade her look to the Cross and see how Christ forgave. Then she told her again what to do. "Darling, you are to invite him to your apartments; you are to have a sweet little dinner for him and flowers on the table, and when he comes you are to kiss him." "But I cannot!" "Yes, you will; and remember it is no forgiveness unless you kiss him. Forgiveness means kissing. Forgive him, and I know peace will come." "Very well, I will, I will!" The Maréchale chanced to be leaving Paris for a time, and said— "You will send me a wire when you have done it." The Princess invited her husband. He made a long night journey. She kissed him and forgave him. Next day the Maréchale received a wire which made her dance for joy. It ran: "_Tout s’est passé comme vous l’avez dit, et la paix du Christ m’inonde: Malzoff_" (All is done as you said, and the peace of Christ floods my soul.) Her husband died after a few months, and her thankfulness for what she had done was profound. The last years of her own life were beautiful. In a letter which she wrote to General Booth in regard to her friend’s health she said: "I owe a great deal to the Maréchale. She has given me a treasure greater than all the treasures of this world—she has given me a living Christ; she has put Him not near me, but in me, in my soul, and the gratitude I feel for that blessing is great." An article from her pen on the Army’s work in Paris contains these words: "The Salle Auber is to me now a holy place. I feel the presence of Christ there—Christ who has personally become a living Saviour to me since the Maréchale brought me to Him and committed me to His Divine arms."