warmness which we have in making ourselves worthy of the graces of the eternal, and especially of asking for these graces."
"Oh, Father," said Adelaide, "anyone who could follow your advice would be sheltered from many misfortunes."
"Let that person come to our retreat," said Urbain, "and he will soon feel that calm and tranquility exist only far from men and the poisonous whirlwind of their passions. It is only in retreat that man can develop his soul and purify himself in order to be worthy of his creator. He does not even know the sweet feeling which comes with solitude; but one must be pure in order to enjoy its charms. The one who lives by himself must have nothing to fear from himself. From that moment he can be happy since he abandons all the false pleasure of this world."
Adelaide, overwhelmed, fell to her knees before the tomb of the Princess of Saxony. She did not say a word, but a sort of delirium almost suspended the circulation of her blood and associated her with the incomprehensible decrees of eternity.
"Do you believe, Father," she finally said, "that I can one day be placed in the tomb of this princess?"
Urbain looked at her attentively.
"Yes, Milady," he answered in a solemn tone, "for you are also the Princess of Saxony and you have the right to share the tomb of the one who has preceded you by a century."
"Let's go to your cell for a few instants, Father. I need to talk to you. Your presence intimidates and enlightens me. You produce on me the effect of the celestial fire which brightened the forehead of Moses and lighted the way for the Israelites in the desert. It is absolutely necessary that I know you better."
Urbain made a sign for the two women to follow him and having taken them to his humble cell, he said:
"Listen to me," he said to them, "since you wish to know who I am and how I know who you are … You remember, Milady," he said addressing Adelaide, "the frightful treatment which the unfortunate Kaunitz received when your husband suspected him so unjustly of being in love with you? Well, Milady, you see in me the father of this sad victim of the jealousy of Frederick or rather that of the cruelty of the perse-
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