In the city of Nancy, in France, a certain missionary priest was preaching a women’s retreat. In one of his sermons, he said that they should never despair of the salvation of any soul, no matter how hopeless things look. He said that good actions which seem of little or no importance to us are rewarded by God, and in a special way, at the hour of death.

When he returned to the sacristy after this sermon, he was followed by a woman clad in mourning dress. She said to him:

"Father, you have in your sermon today recommended confidence and hope. What has happened to me shows that your words are full of truth."

She then went on to describe an experience in her own life. It was about her husband, who had recently passed away. He was an affectionate husband, and a good man. His public and private life were beyond reproach, except that he unfortunately neglected his religious duties. His good wife prayed for him, and tried to speak to him about this. But she saw no change in his spiritual life.

In the month of May preceding his death, this lady practiced her customary honor to the Blessed Mother. She erected an indoor altar to the Our Lady, which she adorned with flowers and candles.

In her narrative to the priest, the lady described how her husband spent that May:

"Every Sunday my husband used to walk into the country, and spent most of the day there instead of going to Mass. Yet he always brought home a beautiful bouquet of flowers, which he gathered with his own hands, and I made use of them to adorn my little altar. Did he see what I did with them, or did he not? I cannot tell. Or did he do this to please me, or perhaps through a secret sentiment of piety towards Our Lady? That I will never know. But one thing I do know is that he never returned home on Sunday without fresh flowers, the best he could find.

"In the first days of the following month of June he was taken from me by a sudden death, without having time to receive the rites of the Church. This grieved me more than I can describe. My health broke down, and my friends advised me to go to the south for a change of air.

"As I passed through Lyons, I was seized with the desire of paying a visit to Ars, to see the holy curé, M. Vianney, who was then living. When I had prayed for some time in the cathedral church of that city, I wrote to him asking to speak with him, and asking for his prayers for my deceased husband. I gave him no details of my husband’s life or death.

"When I arrived at Ars, I went immediately to the church. I had scarcely entered the visitors’ room when he said to me:

" 'Madame, you are in great sorrow; but have you already forgotten the bouquets of sweet flowers which you placed on Our Lady’s altar every Sunday?'

"It would be impossible for me to describe my astonishment at these words of the saintly priest. They vividly brought back to my memory a detail I had nearly forgotten, and which I had never mentioned to anyone. He could not have known about it except by revelation from God.

"He added:

" 'God has had mercy on the soul of one who honored His beloved Mother, even by the little offering of flowers he made to adorn Her altar. At the moment of his death, sudden as it was, he received the grace of repentance. His soul is now in Purgatory; but our prayers and our good works will soon relieve him from his sufferings, and he will then be with God forever.' "