"My poor child," then said the Cardinal gently--"I want you to
understand quite clearly how sorry I am for you, and how willingly I
would do anything in the world to make you a strong, well, and happy
boy. But you must not fancy that I can cure you. I told your little
friends yesterday that I was not a saint, such as you read about in
story-books,--and that I could not work miracles, because I am not
worthy to be so filled with the Divine Spirit as to heal with a
touch like the better servants of our Blessed Lord. Nevertheless I
firmly believe that if God saw that it was good for you to be strong
and well, He would find ways to make you so. Sometimes sickness and
sorrow are sent to us for our advantage,--sometimes even death comes
to us for our larger benefit, though we may not understand how it is
so till afterwards. But in Heaven everything will be made clear; and
even our griefs will be turned into joys,--do you understand?"
"Yes," murmured Fabien gravely, but two large tears welled up in his
plaintive eyes as the faint glimmer of hope he had encouraged as to
the possibility of his being miraculously cured by the touch of a
saintly Cardinal, expired in the lonely darkness of his little
afflicted soul.
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