painfully fell upon her knees, clasped her hands, and also began to
pray. Finally they both rose. Putting aside her beads, the younger
sister--whom the neighbors called "Little Mother Soulard"--took up an
ancient-looking bonnet, which she proceeded to fasten by two immense
strings under her chin. She was short in stature and inclined to be
stout; her face, though heavily lined, was still pleasing to look at.
"Is it storming as badly as ever, Delmia?" she asked, turning to her
sister, who stood watching her putting on her things with a
dissatisfied countenance.

"The storm is worse than ever," Delmia answered peevishly. "Do not go
out to-night. You, too, are old, and it is a long way to the
Bonsecours Church. I fear the storm will be too much for you."

"But think, dear," replied her sister, commiseratingly, "how our poor
nephew will be thinking of us in that dreadful place, and think, too,
of her who was this day to have been his wife. They both sorely need
my prayers this night. I must--I must go, Delmia."

"But," contended Delmia, persistently, bringing her crutch sharply
down on the floor, "why not pray here" (turning and looking at the
statue) "to the Virgin, instead of going out this fearful night to
pray to her in the church?"

The Little Mother let the shawl she was drawing around her shoulders
fall to the floor, as she heard the question, and walking over to her
venerable sister, said excitedly, as she grasped her by the arm: "Have
you not heard, Delmia, of the wonderful answers to prayer that the
Virgin has given in the Bonsecours Church? Only yesterday two more
miracles were reported. Madame Dubuc told me about them this morning.