He replied that to die in God was to die in the grace of God, because God and His grace are as inseparable as the sun and its rays. He was asked again, if to die in God meant to die while in habitual grace, or to die in the exercise of charity, that is to say, whilst impelled by actual grace. He answered that in order to be saved it was enough to die in habitual or sanctifying grace, that is to say, in habitual charity; seeing that those who die in this state, as for instance newly-baptized infants, though they may never have performed a single act of charity, obtain Paradise by right of inheritance, habitual charity making them children of God by adoption. Those, however, who die, not only in the holy and supernatural state of habitual charity, but whilst actually engaged in works of charity, come into the possession of heaven by a double title, that of inheritance and that of reward; therefore is it written that _their works follow them_. The crown of justice is promised by the just Judge to those who shall have fought a good fight and finished their course with perseverance, even to the end. Going on to explain what is meant by man's dying in actual grace, he said that it was to die while making acts of lively faith and hope, of contrition, resignation, and conformity to the will of God. He added these words, which have always remained deeply impressed on my mind: "Although God is all-powerful, it is impossible for Him to condemn to eternal perdition a soul whose will, at the moment of its leaving the body, is subject to, and united with, His own." [Footnote 1: Apoc. xiv. 13.] UPON LENGTH OF LIFE. Judging from outward appearances, from the vigour of his frame, from his sound constitution, and from the temperate simplicity of his manner of life, it seemed probable that Blessed Francis would live to an advanced age. One day I said as much to him, he being at that time about forty-two or forty-three years old. "Ah!" he replied with a sigh, "the longest life is not always the best. The best is that which has been best spent in the service of God," adding these words of David: _Woe is me that my sojourning is prolonged; I have dwelt with the inhabitants of Cedar, my soul hath been long a sojourner._[1] I thought he was secretly grieving over his banishment from his See, his beloved Geneva (he always called it thus), wrapped in the darkness of error, and I quoted to him the words: _Upon the rivers of Babylon there we sat, and wept._[2] "Oh! no," he answered, "it is not that exile which troubles me. I am only too well off in our city of refuge, this dear Annecy. I meant the exile of this life on earth. As long as we are here below are we not exiled from God? _While we are in the body we are absent from the Lord._[3] _Unhappy man that I am! Who shall deliver me from the body of this death? The grace of God by Jesus Christ._"[4]