She drew from her pocket a little box, in which she had put, in case
of thirst, some strawberry lozenges; she now ate several; and as she
did so, the thought crossed her mind that the strawberries, which
existed no longer, lived nevertheless in their qualities. Was it not
so with ourselves? The ocean before her was an image of the infinite.
No great spirit can face the infinite, admitting the immortality of
the soul, without the conviction of a future of holiness. The thought
filled her mind. How petty then seemed the part that she was playing!
there was no real greatness in giving Beatrix to Calyste! So thinking,
she felt the earthly woman die within her, and the true woman, the
noble and angelic being, veiled until now by flesh, arose in her
place. Her great mind, her knowledge, her attainments, her false loves
had brought her face to face with what? Ah! who would have thought it?
--with the bounteous mother, the comforter of troubled spirits, with
the Roman Church, ever kind to repentance, poetic to poets, childlike
with children, and yet so profound, so full of mystery to anxious,
restless minds that they can burrow there and satisfy all longings,
all questionings, all hopes.
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