“God forgive me, a sinner!” she murmured.
The cousin went out and beckoned to the priest.
“She is an angel!” she said to the husband with tears in her eyes. The husband began to weep; the priest went in at the door; the old lady was still unconscious, and in the outer room there was a complete stillness. Five minutes later the priest came out, and taking off his stole smoothed back his hair.
“Thank God, the lady is calmer now,” he said; “she wants to see you.”
The cousin and the husband went in. The sick woman was weeping quietly, gazing at the holy picture.
“I congratulate you, my dear,” said her husband.
“Thank you! How happy I am now, what unspeakable joy I am feeling!” said the sick woman, and a faint smile played about her thin lips. “How merciful is God! Is it not true? Is He not merciful and almighty?” And again with eyes full of tears she gazed at the holy picture in eager prayer.
Then suddenly something seemed to recur to her mind. She beckoned her husband to her.
“You never will do what I ask,” she said in a weak, irritable voice.
Her husband, craning his neck forward, listened submissively.
“What is it, my dear?”
“How often I’ve told you those doctors don’t know anything; there are simple healers, who work cures. … The holy father told me … an artisan … send for him.”
“For whom, my dear?”