Before her closed eyes Monseigneur constantly passed in his violet-coloured robe.

Perhaps it was, indeed, through him, and by him, that the expected miracle was to appear.

The warm night was sleeping without, and she eagerly listened for the voices, trying to know what the trees, the Chevrotte, the Cathedral, her chamber itself, peopled with such friendly shadows, advised her to do.

But there was only an indistinct humming, and nothing precise came to her.

It seemed, however, as if mysterious whispers encouraged her to persevere.