During the journey, sometimes in a peasant's cart, sometimes in a freight wagon, she had thought often of little Juliane, and always with a quiet, nay, a contented heart.

In the famous old church, at the end of her pilgrimage, she saw a picture in which the raked souls of children were soaring upward to heaven from the flames blazing around them in purgatory.
The confessor had sent her to the right place.
Here a fervent prayer had the power to rescue a child's soul from the fires of purgatory.

Many other votive pictures, the pilgrims at the inn, and a priest whom she questioned, confirmed it.

She also heard from various quarters that she had not paid too high a price for the indulgence.

This strengthened her courage and henceforward, nay, even during the time of sore privation which she afterward endured, she blessed a thousand times her resolve to buy the ransoming paper from Tetzel, the Dominican; for she thought that she daily experienced its power.
Whenever Juliane appeared, her face wore a friendly expression--nay, once, in a dream, she floated before her as if she wished to thank her, in the form of a beautiful angel with large pink and white wings.