It was apparent that the not-so-young man should have a vocation to the priesthood or religious life, Zélie Guérin thought to herself.  He was most respectful.  And, yet, not disinterested in her as a woman, just, jest ne sais quoi, purely interested.  It was obvious that he cared about her, above and beyond any love she had ever known, with the exception, perhaps, of that of her parents.  But, alors, he had no natural obligation.  Pure and purely gift, this unnerving attention.  It reminded her of Saint Joseph.  Mais oui, the figure at the edge of the Nativity scene, that watchfulness with the lantern, just outside the edge of its light.  Oui, Zélie thought.  A hidden soul.  A chosen soul.  A holy man, and, therefore, a whole man.  She could make a home with him where God would dwell. 

She should belong to God, she does belong to God, Louis Martin was thinking.  Why did the religious orders turn down such a woman?  I know God should have all her love, but I am overwhelmed that she is here and free to wed.  Is she the reason Providence also kept me in secular life?  Such a gift from God, this pure soul.  She reminds me of Mary.  I am unworthy of this possibility.  But Mary needed her Joseph.  Perhaps I could be that for her, make a home for her and with her where God would dwell.  Enfin, I think I am beginning to understand the Lord’s mysterious ways.  It is apparent:  Joseph needs his Mary.  “Zélie Guérin, will you marry me?”

 Apparently, she said yes, for they became the holy parents of a saint.