eath, needed to adapt himself to the idea less than any one
else. In order to have nothing more to do than to prepare for his last
hour he hastened to settle a question which concerned his seminary: he
reduced definitely to eight the number of pensions which he had
established in it in 1680. This done, it remained for him now only to
suffer and die. The ulcer increased incessantly and the continual pains
which he felt became atrocious when it was dressed. His intolerable
sufferings drew from him, nevertheless, not cries and complaints, but
outpourings of love for God. Like Saint Vincent de Paul, whom the
tortures of his last malady could not compel to utter other words than
these: "Ah, my Saviour! my good Saviour!" Mgr. de Laval gave vent to
these words only: "O, my God! have pity on me! O God of Mercy!" and this
cry, the summary of his whole life: "Let Thy holy will be done!" One of
the last thoughts of the dying man was to express the sentiment of his
whole life, humility. Some one begged him to imitate the majority of the
saints, who, on their death-bed, uttered a few pious words for the
edification of their spiritual children. "They were saints," he replied,
"and I am a sinner." A speech worthy of Saint Vincent de Paul, who,
about to appear before God, replied to the person who requested his
blessing, "It is not for me, unworthy wretch that I am, to bless you."
The fervour with which he received the last sacraments aroused the
admiration of all the witnesses of this supreme hour. They almost
expected to see this holy soul take flight for its celestial mansion. As
soon as the prayers for the dying had been pronounced, he asked to have
the chaplets of the Holy Family recited, and during the recitation of
this prayer he gave up his soul to his Creator. It was then half-past
seven in the morning, and the sixth day of the month consecrated to the
Holy Virgin, whom he had so loved (May, 1708).

It was with a quiver of grief which was felt in all hearts throughout
the colony that men learned the fatal news. The banks of the great river
repeated this great woe to the valleys; the sad certainty that the
father of all had disappeared forever sowed desolation in the homes of
the rich as well as in the thatched huts of the poor. A cry of pain, a
deep sob arose from the bosom of Canada which would not be consoled,
because its incomparable bishop was no more! Etienne de Citeaux said to
his monks after the death of his holy predece