LOURDES

FORM THE THREE CITIES

By Emile Zola

Translated By Ernest A. Vizetelly

PREFACE

BEFORE perusing this work, it is as well that the reader shouldunderstand M. Zola's aim in writing it, and his views--as distinct fromthose of his characters--upon Lourdes, its Grotto, and its cures. A shorttime before the book appeared M. Zola was interviewed upon the subject byhis friend and biographer, Mr. Robert H. Sherard, to whom he spoke asfollows:

"'Lourdes' came to be written by mere accident. In 1891 I happened to betravelling for my pleasure, with my wife, in the Basque country and bythe Pyrenees, and being in the neighbourhood of Lourdes, included it inmy tour. I spent fifteen days there, and was greatly struck by what Isaw, and it then occurred to me that there was material here for just thesort of novel that I like to write--a novel in which great masses of mencan be shown in motion--_un grand mouvement de foule_--a novel thesubject of which stirred up my philosophical ideas. 

"It was too late then to study the question, for I had visited Lourdeslate in September, and so had missed seeing the best pilgrimage, whichtakes place in August, under the direction of the Peres de laMisericorde, of the Rue de l'Assomption in Paris--the NationalPilgrimage, as it is called. These Fathers are very active, enterprisingmen, and have made a great success of this annual national pilgrimage. Under their direction thirty thousand pilgrims are transported toLourdes, including over a thousand sick persons. 

"So in the following year I went in August, and saw a nationalpilgrimage, and followed it during the three days which it lasts, inaddition to the two days given to travelling. After its departure, Istayed on ten or twelve days, working up the subject in every detail. Mybook is the story of such a national pilgrimage, and is, accordingly, thestory of five days. It is divided into five parts, each of which parts islimited to one day. 

"There are from ninety to one hundred characters in the story: sickpersons, pilgrims, priests, nuns, hospitallers, nurses, and peasants; andthe book shows Lourdes under every aspect. There are the piscinas, theprocessions, the Grotto, the churches at night, the people in thestreets. It is, in one word, Lourdes in its entirety. In this canvas isworked out a very delicate central intrigue, as in 'Dr. Pascal, ' andaround this are many little stories or subsidiary plots. There is thestory of the sick person who gets well, of the sick person who is notcured, and so on. The philosophical idea which pervades the whole book isthe idea of human suffering, the exhibition of the desperate anddespairing sufferers who, abandoned by science and by man, addressthemselves to a higher Power in the hope of relief; as where parents havea dearly loved daughter dying of consumption, who has been given up, andfor whom nothing remains but death. A sudden hope, however, breaks inupon them: 'supposing that after all there should be a Power greater thanthat of man, higher than that of science. ' They will haste to try thislast chance of safety. It is the instinctive hankering after the liewhich creates human credulity. 

"I will admit that I came across some instances of real cure. Many casesof nervous disorders have undoubtedly been cured, and there have alsobeen other cures which may, perhaps be attributed to errors of diagnosison the part of doctors who attended the patients so cured. Often apatient is described by his doctor as suffering from consumption. He goesto Lourdes, and is cured. However, the probability is that the doctormade a mistake. In my own case I was at one time suffering from a violentpain in my chest, which presented all the symptoms of _angina pectoris_, a mortal malady. It was nothing of the sort. Indigestion, doubtless, and, as such, curable. Remember that most of the sick persons who go toLourdes come from the country, and that the country doctors are notusually men of either great skill or great experience. But all doctorsmistake symptoms. Put three doctors together to discuss a case, and innine cases out of ten they will disagree in their diagnosis. Look at thequantities of tumours, swellings, and sores, which cannot be properlyclassified. These cures are based on the ignorance of the medicalprofession. The sick pretend, believe, that they suffer from such andsuch a desperate malady, whereas it is from some other malady that theyare suffering. And so the legend forms itself. And, of course, there mustbe cures out of so large a number of cases. Nature often cures withoutmedical aid. Certainly, many of the workings of Nature are wonderful, butthey are not supernatural. The Lourdes miracles can neither be proved nordenied. The miracle is based on human ignorance. And so the doctor wholives at Lourdes, and who is commissioned to register the cures and totabulate the miracles, has a very careless time of it. A person comes, and gets cured. He has but to get three doctors together to examine thecase. They will disagree as to what was the disease from which thepatient suffered, and the only explanation left which will be acceptableto the public, with its hankering after the lie, is that a miracle hasbeen vouchsafed. 

"I interviewed a number of people at Lourdes, and could not find one whowould declare that he had witnessed a miracle. All the cases which Idescribe in my book are real cases, in which I have only changed thenames of the persons concerned. In none of these instances was I able todiscover any real proof for or against the miraculous nature of the cure. Thus, in the case of Clementine Trouve, who figures in my story asSophie--the patient who, after suffering for a long time from a horridopen sore on her foot, was suddenly cured, according to current report, by bathing her foot in the piscina, where the bandages fell off, and herfoot was entirely restored to a healthy condition--I investigated thatcase thoroughly. I was told that there were three or four ladies livingin Lourdes who could guarantee the facts as stated by little Clementine. I looked up those ladies. The first said No, she could not vouch foranything. She had seen nothing. I had better consult somebody else. Thenext answered in the same way, and nowhere was I able to find anycorroboration of the girl's story. Yet the little girl did not look likea liar, and I believe that she was fully convinced of the miraculousnature of her cure. It is the facts themselves which lie. 

"Lourdes, the Grotto, the cures, the miracles, are, indeed, the creationof that need of the Lie, that necessity for credulity, which is acharacteristic of human nature. At first, when little Bernadette camewith her strange story of what she had witnessed, everybody was againsther. The Prefect of the Department, the Bishop, the clergy, objected toher story. But Lourdes grew up in spite of all opposition, just as theChristian religion did, because suffering humanity in its despair mustcling to something, must have some hope; and, on the other hand, becausehumanity thirsts after illusions. In a word, it is the story of thefoundation of all religions. "

To the foregoing account of "Lourdes" as supplied by its author, it maybe added that the present translation, first made from early proofs ofthe French original whilst the latter was being completed, has for thepurposes of this new American edition been carefully and extensivelyrevised by Mr. E. A. Vizetelly, --M. Zola's representative for allEnglish-speaking countries. "Lourdes" forms the first volume of the"Trilogy of the Three Cities, " the second being "Rome, " and the third"Paris. "

LOURDES

THE FIRST DAY

I. PILGRIMS AND PATIENTS

THE pilgrims and patients, closely packed on the hard seats of athird-class carriage, were just finishing the "Ave maris Stella, " whichthey had begun to chant on leaving the terminus of the Orleans line, whenMarie, slightly raised on her couch of misery and restless with feverishimpatience, caught sight of the Paris fortifications through the windowof the moving train. 

"Ah, the fortifications!" she exclaimed, in a tone which was joyousdespite her suffering. "Here we are, out of Paris; we are off at last!"

Her delight drew a smile from her father, M. De Guersaint, who sat infront of her, whilst Abbe Pierre Froment, who was looking at her withfraternal affection, was so carried away by his compassionate anxiety asto say aloud: "And now we are in for it till to-morrow morning. We shallonly reach Lourdes at three-forty. We have more than two-and-twentyhours' journey before us. "

It was half-past five, the sun had risen, radiant in the pure sky of adelightful morning. It was a Friday, the 19th of August. On the horizon, however, some small, heavy clouds already presaged a terrible day ofstormy heat. And the oblique sunrays were enfilading the compartments ofthe railway carriage, filling them with dancing, golden dust. 

"Yes, two-and-twenty hours, " murmured Marie, relapsing into a state ofanguish. "_Mon Dieu_! what a long time we must still wait!"

Then her father helped her to lie down again in the narrow box, a kind ofwooden gutter, in which she had been living for seven years past. Makingan exception in her favour, the railway officials had consented to takeas luggage the two pairs of wheels which could be removed from the box, or fitted to it whenever it became necessary to transport her from placeto place. Packed between the sides of this movable coffin, she occupiedthe room of three passengers on the carriage seat; and for a moment shelay there with eyes closed. Although she was three-and-twenty; her ashen, emaciated face was still delicately infantile, charming despiteeverything, in the midst of her marvellous fair hair, the hair of aqueen, which illness had respected. Clad with the utmost simplicity in agown of thin woollen stuff, she wore, hanging from her neck, the cardbearing her name and number, which entitled her to _hospitalisation_, orfree treatment. She herself had insisted on making the journey in thishumble fashion, not wishing to be a source of expense to her relatives, who little by little had fallen into very straitened circumstances. Andthus it was that she found herself in a third-class carriage of the"white train, " the train which carried the greatest sufferers, the mostwoeful of the fourteen trains going to Lourdes that day, the one inwhich, in addition to five hundred healthy pilgrims, nearly three hundredunfortunate wretches, weak to the point of exhaustion, racked bysuffering, were heaped together, and borne at express speed from one tothe other end of France. 

Sorry that he had saddened her, Pierre continued to gaze at her with theair of a compassionate elder brother. He had just completed his thirtiethyear, and was pale and slight, with a broad forehead. After busyinghimself with all the arrangements for the journey, he had been desirousof accompanying her, and, having obtained admission among theHospitallers of Our Lady of Salvation as an auxiliary member, wore on hiscassock the red, orange-tipped cross of a bearer. M. De Guersaint on hisside had simply pinned the little scarlet cross of the pilgrimage on hisgrey cloth jacket. The idea of travelling appeared to delight him;although he was over fifty he still looked young, and, with his eyes everwandering over the landscape, he seemed unable to keep his head still--abird-like head it was, with an expression of good nature andabsent-mindedness. 

However, in spite of the violent shaking of the train, which constantlydrew sighs from Marie, Sister Hyacinthe had risen to her feet in theadjoining compartment. She noticed that the sun's rays were streaming inthe girl's face. 

"Pull down the blind, Monsieur l'Abbe, " she said to Pierre. "Come, come, we must install ourselves properly, and set our little household inorder. "

Clad in the black robe of a Sister of the Assumption, enlivened by awhite coif, a white wimple, and a large white apron, Sister Hyacinthesmiled, the picture of courageous activity. Her youth bloomed upon hersmall, fresh lips, and in the depths of her beautiful blue eyes, whoseexpression was ever gentle. She was not pretty, perhaps, still she wascharming, slender, and tall, the bib of her apron covering her flat chestlike that of a young man; one of good heart, displaying a snowycomplexion, and overflowing with health, gaiety, and innocence. 

"But this sun is already roasting us, " said she; "pray pull down yourblind as well, madame. "

Seated in the corner, near the Sister, was Madame de Jonquiere, who hadkept her little bag on her lap. She slowly pulled down the blind. Dark, and well built, she was still nice-looking, although she had a daughter, Raymonde, who was four-and-twenty, and whom for motives of propriety shehad placed in the charge of two lady-hospitallers, Madame Desagneaux andMadame Volmar, in a first-class carriage. For her part, directress as shewas of a ward of the Hospital of Our Lady of Dolours at Lourdes, she didnot quit her patients; and outside, swinging against the door of hercompartment, was the regulation placard bearing under her own name thoseof the two Sisters of the Assumption who accompanied her. The widow of aruined man, she lived with her daughter on the scanty income of four orfive thousand francs a year, at the rear of a courtyard in the RueVanneau. But her charity was inexhaustible, and she gave all her time tothe work of the Hospitality of Our Lady of Salvation, an institutionwhose red cross she wore on her gown of carmelite poplin, and whose aimsshe furthered with the most active zeal. Of a somewhat proud disposition, fond of being flattered and loved, she took great delight in this annualjourney, from which both her heart and her passion derived contentment. 

"You are right, Sister, " she said, "we will organise matters. I reallydon't know why I am encumbering myself with this bag. "

And thereupon she placed it under the seat, near her. 

"Wait a moment, " resumed Sister Hyacinthe; "you have the water-canbetween your legs--it is in your way. "

"No, no, it isn't, I assure you. Let it be. It must always be somewhere. "

Then they both set their house in order as they expressed it, so that fora day and a night they might live with their patients as comfortably aspossible. The worry was that they had not been able to take Marie intotheir compartment, as she wished to have Pierre and her father near her;however neighbourly intercourse was easy enough over the low partition. Moreover the whole carriage, with its five compartments of ten seatseach, formed but one moving chamber, a common room as it were which theeye took in at a glance from end to end. Between its wooden walls, bareand yellow, under its white-painted panelled roof, it showed like ahospital ward, with all the disorder and promiscuous jumbling together ofan improvised ambulance. Basins, brooms, and sponges lay about, half-hidden by the seats. Then, as the train only carried such luggage asthe pilgrims could take with them, there were valises, deal boxes, bonnetboxes, and bags, a wretched pile of poor worn-out things mended with bitsof string, heaped up a little bit everywhere; and overhead the litterbegan again, what with articles of clothing, parcels, and baskets hangingfrom brass pegs and swinging to and fro without a pause. 

Amidst all this frippery the more afflicted patients, stretched on theirnarrow mattresses, which took up the room of several passengers, wereshaken, carried along by the rumbling gyrations of the wheels; whilstthose who were able to remain seated, leaned against the partitions, their faces pale, their heads resting upon pillows. According to theregulations there should have been one lady-hospitaller to eachcompartment. However, at the other end of the carriage there was but asecond Sister of the Assumption, Sister Claire des Anges. Some of thepilgrims who were in good health were already getting up, eating anddrinking. One compartment was entirely occupied by women, ten pilgrimsclosely pressed together, young ones and old ones, all sadly, pitifullyugly. And as nobody dared to open the windows on account of theconsumptives in the carriage, the heat was soon felt and an unbearableodour arose, set free as it were by the jolting of the train as it wentits way at express speed. 

They had said their chaplets at Juvisy; and six o'clock was striking, andthey were rushing like a hurricane past the station of Bretigny, whenSister Hyacinthe stood up. It was she who directed the pious exercises, which most of the pilgrims followed from small, blue-covered books. 

"The Angelus, my children, " said she with a pleasant smile, a maternalair which her great youth rendered very charming and sweet. 

Then the "Aves" again followed one another, and were drawing to an endwhen Pierre and Marie began to feel interested in two women who occupiedthe other corner seats of their compartment. One of them, she who sat atMarie's feet, was a blonde of slender build and _bourgeoise_ appearance, some thirty and odd years of age, and faded before she had grown old. Sheshrank back, scarcely occupying any room, wearing a dark dress, andshowing colourless hair, and a long grief-stricken face which expressedunlimited self-abandonment, infinite sadness. The woman in front of her, she who sat on the same seat as Pierre, was of the same age, but belongedto the working classes. She wore a black cap and displayed a face ravagedby wretchedness and anxiety, whilst on her lap she held a little girl ofseven, who was so pale, so wasted by illness, that she scarcely seemedfour. With her nose contracted, her eyelids lowered and showing blue inher waxen face, the child was unable to speak, unable to give utteranceto more than a low plaint, a gentle moan, which rent the heart of hermother, leaning over her, each time that she heard it. 

"Would she eat a few grapes?" timidly asked the lady, who had hithertopreserved silence. "I have some in my basket. "

"Thank you, madame, " replied the woman, "she only takes milk, andsometimes not even that willingly. I took care to bring a bottleful withme. "

Then, giving way to the desire which possesses the wretched to confidetheir woes to others, she began to relate her story. Her name wasVincent, and her husband, a gilder by trade, had been carried off byconsumption. Left alone with her little Rose, who was the passion of herheart, she had worked by day and night at her calling as a dressmaker inorder to bring the child up. But disease had come, and for fourteenmonths now she had had her in her arms like that, growing more and morewoeful and wasted until reduced almost to nothingness. She, the mother, who never went to mass, entered a church, impelled by despair to pray forher daughter's cure; and there she had heard a voice which had told herto take the little one to Lourdes, where the Blessed Virgin would havepity on her. Acquainted with nobody, not knowing even how the pilgrimageswere organised, she had had but one idea--to work, save up the moneynecessary for the journey, take a ticket, and start off with the thirtysous remaining to her, destitute of all supplies save a bottle of milkfor the child, not having even thought of purchasing a crust of bread forherself. 

"What is the poor little thing suffering from?" resumed the lady. 

"Oh, it must be consumption of the bowels, madame! But the doctors havenames they give it. At first she only had slight pains in the stomach. Then her stomach began to swell and she suffered, oh, so dreadfully! itmade one cry to see her. Her stomach has gone down now, only she's wornout; she has got so thin that she has no legs left her, and she's wastingaway with continual sweating. "

Then, as Rose, raising her eyelids, began to moan, her mother leant overher, distracted and turning pale. "What is the matter, my jewel, mytreasure?" she asked. "Are you thirsty?"

But the little girl was already closing her dim eyes of a hazy sky-bluehue, and did not even answer, but relapsed into her torpor, quite whitein the white frock she wore--a last coquetry on the part of her mother, who had gone to this useless expense in the hope that the Virgin would bemore compassionate and gentle to a little sufferer who was well dressed, so immaculately white. 

There was an interval of silence, and then Madame Vincent inquired: "Andyou, madame, it's for yourself no doubt that you are going to Lourdes?One can see very well that you are ill. "

But the lady, with a frightened look, shrank woefully into her corner, murmuring: "No, no, I am not ill. Would to God that I were! I shouldsuffer less. "

Her name was Madame Maze, and her heart was full of an incurable grief. After a love marriage to a big, gay fellow with ripe, red lips, she hadfound herself deserted at the end of a twelvemonth's honeymoon. Evertravelling, following the profession of a jeweller's bagman, her husband, who earned a deal of money, would disappear for six months at a stretch, deceive her from one frontier to the other of France, at times evencarrying creatures about with him. And she worshipped him; she sufferedso frightfully from it all that she had sought a remedy in religion, andhad at last made up her mind to repair to Lourdes, in order to pray theVirgin to restore her husband to her and make him amend his ways. 

Although Madame Vincent did not understand the other's words, sherealised that she was a prey to great mental affliction, and theycontinued looking at one another, the mother, whom the sight of her dyingdaughter was killing, and the abandoned wife, whom her passion cast intothroes of death-like agony. 

However, Pierre, who, like Marie, had been listening to the conversation, now intervened. He was astonished that the dressmaker had not sought freetreatment for her little patient. The Association of Our Lady ofSalvation had been founded by the Augustine Fathers of the Assumptionafter the Franco-German war, with the object of contributing to thesalvation of France and the defence of the Church by prayer in common andthe practice of charity; and it was this association which had promotedthe great pilgrimage movement, in particular initiating and unremittinglyextending the national pilgrimage which every year, towards the close ofAugust, set out for Lourdes. An elaborate organisation had been graduallyperfected, donations of considerable amounts were collected in all partsof the world, sufferers were enrolled in every parish, and agreementswere signed with the railway companies, to say nothing of the active helpof the Little Sisters of the Assumption and the establishment of theHospitality of Our Lady of Salvation, a widespread brotherhood of thebenevolent, in which one beheld men and women, mostly belonging tosociety, who, under the orders of the pilgrimage managers, nursed thesick, helped to transport them, and watched over the observance of gooddiscipline. A written request was needed for the sufferers to obtainhospitalisation, which dispensed them from making the smallest payment inrespect either of their journey or their sojourn; they were fetched fromtheir homes and conveyed back thither; and they simply had to provide afew provisions for the road. By far the greater number were recommendedby priests or benevolent persons, who superintended the inquiriesconcerning them and obtained the needful papers, such as doctors'certificates and certificates of birth. And, these matters being settled, the sick ones had nothing further to trouble about, they became but somuch suffering flesh, food for miracles, in the hands of the hospitallersof either sex. 

"But you need only have applied to your parish priest, madame, " Pierreexplained. "This poor child is deserving of all sympathy. She would havebeen immediately admitted. "

"I did not know it, monsieur l'Abbe. "

"Then how did you manage?"

"Why, Monsieur l'Abbe, I went to take a ticket at a place which one of myneighbours, who reads the newspapers, told me about. "

She was referring to the tickets, at greatly reduced rates, which wereissued to the pilgrims possessed of means. And Marie, listening to her, felt great pity for her, and also some shame; for she who was notentirely destitute of resources had succeeded in obtaining_hospitalisation_, thanks to Pierre, whereas that mother and her sorrychild, after exhausting their scanty savings, remained without a copper. 

However, a more violent jolt of the carriage drew a cry of pain from thegirl. "Oh, father, " she said, "pray raise me a little! I can't stay on myback any longer. "

When M. De Guersaint had helped her into a sitting posture, she gave adeep sigh of relief. They were now at Etampes, after a run of an hour anda half from Paris, and what with the increased warmth of the sun, thedust, and the noise, weariness was becoming apparent already. Madame deJonquiere had got up to speak a few words of kindly encouragement toMarie over the partition; and Sister Hyacinthe moreover again rose, andgaily clapped her hands that she might be heard and obeyed from one tothe other end of the carriage. 

"Come, come!" said she, "we mustn't think of our little troubles. Let uspray and sing, and the Blessed Virgin will be with us. "

She herself then began the rosary according to the rite of Our Lady ofLourdes, and all the patients and pilgrims followed her. This was thefirst chaplet--the five joyful mysteries, the Annunciation, theVisitation, the Nativity, the Purification, and Jesus found in theTemple. Then they all began to chant the canticle: "Let us contemplatethe heavenly Archangel!" Their voices were lost amid the loud rumbling ofthe wheels; you heard but the muffled surging of that human wave, stifling within the closed carriage which rolled on and on without apause. 

Although M. De Guersaint was a worshipper, he could never follow a hymnto the end. He got up, sat down again, and finished by resting his elbowon the partition and conversing in an undertone with a patient who satagainst this same partition in the next compartment. The patient inquestion was a thick-set man of fifty, with a good-natured face and alarge head, completely bald. His name was Sabathier, and for fifteenyears he had been stricken with ataxia. He only suffered pain by fits andstarts, but he had quite lost the use of his legs, which his wife, whoaccompanied him, moved for him as though they had been dead legs, whenever they became too heavy, weighty like bars of lead. 

"Yes, monsieur, " he said, "such as you see me, I was formerly fifth-classprofessor at the Lycee Charlemagne. At first I thought that it was meresciatica, but afterwards I was seized with sharp, lightning-like pains, red-hot sword thrusts, you know, in the muscles. For nearly ten years thedisease kept on mastering me more and more. I consulted all the doctors, tried every imaginable mineral spring, and now I suffer less, but I canno longer move from my seat. And then, after long living without athought of religion, I was led back to God by the idea that I was toowretched, and that Our Lady of Lourdes could not do otherwise than takepity on me. "

Feeling interested, Pierre in his turn had leant over the partition andwas listening. 

"Is it not so, Monsieur l'Abbe?" continued M. Sabathier. "Is notsuffering the best awakener of souls? This is the seventh year that I amgoing to Lourdes without despairing of cure. This year the Blessed Virginwill cure me, I feel sure of it. Yes, I expect to be able to walk aboutagain; I now live solely in that hope. "

M. Sabathier paused, he wished his wife to push his legs a little more tothe left; and Pierre looked at him, astonished to find such obstinatefaith in a man of intellect, in one of those university professors who, as a rule, are such Voltairians. How could the belief in miracles havegerminated and taken root in this man's brain? As he himself said, greatsuffering alone explained this need of illusion, this blossoming ofeternal and consolatory hope. 

"And my wife and I, " resumed the ex-professor, "are dressed, you see, aspoor folks, for I wished to go as a mere pauper this year, and appliedfor _hospitalisation_ in a spirit of humility in order that the BlessedVirgin might include me among the wretched, her children--only, as I didnot wish to take the place of a real pauper, I gave fifty francs to theHospitalite, and this, as you are aware, gives one the right to have apatient of one's own in the pilgrimage. I even know my patient. He wasintroduced to me at the railway station. He is suffering fromtuberculosis, it appears, and seemed to me very low, very low. "

A fresh interval of silence ensued. "Well, " said M. Sabathier at last, "may the Blessed Virgin save him also, she who can do everything. I shallbe so happy; she will have loaded me with favours. "

Then the three men, isolating themselves from the others, went onconversing together, at first on medical subjects, and at last diverginginto a discussion on romanesque architecture, _a propos_ of a steeplewhich they had perceived on a hillside, and which every pilgrim hadsaluted with a sign of the cross. Swayed once more by the habits ofcultivated intellect, the young priest and his two companions forgotthemselves together in the midst of their fellow-passengers, all thosepoor, suffering, simple-minded folk, whom wretchedness stupefied. Anotherhour went by, two more canticles had just been sung, and the stations ofToury and Les Aubrais had been left behind, when, at Beaugency, they atlast ceased their chat, on hearing Sister Hyacinthe clap her hands andintonate in her fresh, sonorous voice:

"_Parce, Domine, parce populo tuo_. "

And then the chant went on; all voices became mingled in thatever-surging wave of prayer which stilled pain, excited hope, and littleby little penetrated the entire being, harassed by the haunting thoughtof the grace and cure which one and all were going to seek so far away. 

However, as Pierre sat down again, he saw that Marie was very pale, andhad her eyes closed. By the painful contraction of her features he couldtell that she was not asleep. "Are you in great suffering?" he asked. 

"Yes, yes, I suffer dreadfully. I shall never last to the end. It is thisincessant jolting. "

She moaned, raised her eyelids, and, half-fainting, remained in a sittingposture, her eyes turned on the other sufferers. In the adjoiningcompartment, La Grivotte, hitherto stretched out, scarce breathing, likea corpse, had just raised herself up in front of M. Sabathier. She was atall, slip-shod, singular-looking creature of over thirty, with a round, ravaged face, which her frizzy hair and flaming eyes rendered almostpretty. She had reached the third stage of phthisis. 

"Eh, mademoiselle, " she said, addressing herself in a hoarse, indistinctvoice to Marie, "how nice it would be if we could only doze off a little. But it can't be managed; all these wheels keep on whirling round andround in one's head. "

Then, although it fatigued her to speak, she obstinately went on talking, volunteering particulars about herself. She was a mattress-maker, andwith one of her aunts had long gone from yard to yard at Bercy to comband sew up mattresses. And, indeed, it was to the pestilential wool whichshe had combed in her youth that she ascribed her malady. For five yearsshe had been making the round of the hospitals of Paris, and she spokefamiliarly of all the great doctors. It was the Sisters of Charity, atthe Lariboisiere hospital, who, finding that she had a passion forreligious ceremonies, had completed her conversion, and convinced herthat the Virgin awaited her at Lourdes to cure her. 

"I certainly need it, " said she. "The doctors say that I have one lungdone for, and that the other one is scarcely any better. There are greatbig holes you know. At first I only felt bad between the shoulders andspat up some froth. But then I got thin, and became a dreadful sight. Andnow I'm always in a sweat, and cough till I think I'm going to bring myheart up. And I can no longer spit. And I haven't the strength to stand, you see. I can't eat. "

A stifling sensation made her pause, and she became livid. 

"All the same I prefer being in my skin instead of in that of the Brotherin the compartment behind you. He has the same complaint as I have, buthe is in a worse state that I am. "

She was mistaken. In the farther compartment, beyond Marie, there wasindeed a young missionary, Brother Isidore, who was lying on a mattressand could not be seen, since he was unable to raise even a finger. But hewas not suffering from phthisis. He was dying of inflammation of theliver, contracted in Senegal. Very long and lank, he had a yellow face, with skin as dry and lifeless as parchment. The abscess which had formedin his liver had ended by breaking out externally, and amidst thecontinuous shivering of fever, vomiting, and delirium, suppuration wasexhausting him. His eyes alone were still alive, eyes full ofunextinguishable love, whose flame lighted up his expiring face, apeasant face such as painters have given to the crucified Christ, common, but rendered sublime at moments by its expression of faith and passion. He was a Breton, the last puny child of an over-numerous family, and hadleft his little share of land to his elder brothers. One of his sisters, Marthe, older than himself by a couple of years, accompanied him. She hadbeen in service in Paris, an insignificant maid-of-all-work, but withalso devoted to her brother that she had left her situation to follow him, subsisting scantily on her petty savings. 

"I was lying on the platform, " resumed La Grivotte, "when he was put inthe carriage. There were four men carrying him--"

But she was unable to speak any further, for just then an attack ofcoughing shook her and threw her back upon the seat. She was suffocating, and the red flush on her cheek-bones turned blue. Sister Hyacinthe, however, immediately raised her head and wiped her lips with a linencloth, which became spotted with blood. At the same time Madame deJonquiere gave her attention to a patient in front of her, who had justfainted. She was called Madame Vetu, and was the wife of a pettyclockmaker of the Mouffetard district, who had not been able to shut uphis shop in order to accompany her to Lourdes. And to make sure that shewould be cared for she had sought and obtained _hospitalisation_. Thefear of death was bringing her back to religion, although she had not setfoot in church since her first communion. She knew that she was lost, that a cancer in the chest was eating into her; and she already had thehaggard, orange-hued mark of the cancerous patient. Since the beginningof the journey she had not spoken a word, but, suffering terribly, hadremained with her lips tightly closed. Then all at once, she had swoonedaway after an attack of vomiting. 

"It is unbearable!" murmured Madame de Jonquiere, who herself felt faint;"we must let in a little fresh air. "

Sister Hyacinthe was just then laying La Grivotte to rest on her pillows, "Certainly, " said she, "we will open the window for a few moments. Butnot on this side, for I am afraid we might have a fresh fit of coughing. Open the window on your side, madame. "

The heat was still increasing, and the occupants of the carriage werestifling in that heavy evil-smelling atmosphere. The pure air which camein when the window was opened brought relief however. For a moment therewere other duties to be attended to, a clearance and cleansing. TheSister emptied the basins out of the window, whilst the lady-hospitallerwiped the shaking floor with a sponge. Next, things had to be set inorder; and then came a fresh anxiety, for the fourth patient, a slendergirl whose face was entirely covered by a black fichu, and who had notyet moved, was saying that she felt hungry. 

With quiet devotion Madame de Jonquiere immediately tendered herservices. "Don't you trouble, Sister, " she said, "I will cut her breadinto little bits for her. "

Marie, with the need she felt of diverting her mind from her ownsufferings, had already begun to take an interest in that motionlesssufferer whose countenance was so thickly veiled, for she not unnaturallysuspected that it was a case of some distressing facial sore. She hadmerely been told that the patient was a servant, which was true, but ithappened that the poor creature, a native of Picardy, named EliseRouquet, had been obliged to leave her situation, and seek a home with asister who ill-treated her, for no hospital would take her in. Extremelydevout, she had for many months been possessed by an ardent desire to goto Lourdes. 

While Marie, with dread in her heart, waited for the fichu to be movedaside, Madame de Jonquiere, having cut some bread into small pieces, inquired maternally: "Are they small enough? Can you put them into yourmouth?"

Thereupon a hoarse voice growled confused words under the black fichu:"Yes, yes, madame. " And at last the veil fell and Marie shuddered withhorror. 

It was a case of lupus which had preyed upon the unhappy woman's nose andmouth. Ulceration had spread, and was hourly spreading--in short, all thehideous peculiarities of this terrible disease were in full process ofdevelopment, almost obliterating the traces of what once were pleasingwomanly lineaments. 

"Oh, look, Pierre!" Marie murmured, trembling. The priest in his turnshuddered as he beheld Elise Rouquet cautiously slipping the tiny piecesof bread into her poor shapeless mouth. Everyone in the carriage hadturned pale at sight of the awful apparition. And the same thoughtascended from all those hope-inflated souls. Ah! Blessed Virgin, PowerfulVirgin, what a miracle indeed if such an ill were cured!

"We must not think of ourselves, my children, if we wish to get well, "resumed Sister Hyacinthe, who still retained her encouraging smile. 

And then she made them say the second chaplet, the five sorrowfulmysteries: Jesus in the Garden of Olives, Jesus scourged, Jesus crownedwith thorns, Jesus carrying the cross, and Jesus crucified. Afterwardscame the canticle: "In thy help, Virgin, do I put my trust. "

They had just passed through Blois; for three long hours they had beenrolling onward; and Marie, who had averted her eyes from Elise Rouquet, now turned them upon a man who occupied a corner seat in the compartmenton her left, that in which Brother Isidore was lying. She had noticedthis man several times already. Poorly clad in an old black frock-coat, he looked still young, although his sparse beard was already turninggrey; and, short and emaciated, he seemed to experience great suffering, his fleshless, livid face being covered with sweat. However, he remainedmotionless, ensconced in his corner, speaking to nobody, but staringstraight before him with dilated eyes. And all at once Marie noticed thathis eyelids were falling, and that he was fainting away. 

She thereupon drew Sister's Hyacinthe's attention to him: "Look, Sister!One would think that that gentleman is dangerously ill. "

"Which one, my dear child?"

"That one, over there, with his head thrown back. "

General excitement followed, all the healthy pilgrims rose up to look, and it occurred to Madame de Jonquiere to call to Marthe, BrotherIsidore's sister, and tell her to tap the man's hands. 

"Question him, " she added; "ask what ails him. "

Marthe drew near, shook the man, and questioned him. 

But instead of an answer only a rattle came from his throat, and his eyesremained closed. 

Then a frightened voice was heard saying, "I think he is going to die. "

The dread increased, words flew about, advice was tendered from one tothe other end of the carriage. Nobody knew the man. He had certainly notobtained _hospitalisation_, for no white card was hanging from his neck. Somebody related, however, that he had seen him arrive, dragging himselfalong, but three minutes or so before the train started; and that he hadremained quite motionless, scarce breathing, ever since he had flunghimself with an air of intense weariness into that corner, where he wasnow apparently dying. His ticket was at last seen protruding from underthe band of an old silk hat which was hung from a peg near him. 

"Ah, he is breathing again now!" Sister Hyacinthe suddenly exclaimed. "Ask him his name. "

However, on being again questioned by Marthe, the man merely gave vent toa low plaint, an exclamation scarcely articulated, "Oh, how I suffer!"

And thenceforward that was the only answer that could be obtained fromhim. With reference to everything that they wished to know, who he was, whence he came, what his illness was, what could be done for him, he gaveno information, but still and ever continued moaning, "Oh, how Isuffer--how I suffer!"

Sister Hyacinthe grew restless with impatience. Ah, if she had only beenin the same compartment with him! And she resolved that she would changeher seat at the first station they should stop at. Only there would be nostoppage for a long time. The position was becoming terrible, the more soas the man's head again fell back. 

"He is dying, he is dying!" repeated the frightened voice. 

What was to be done, _mon Dieu_? The Sister was aware that one of theFathers of the Assumption, Father Massias, was in the train with the HolyOils, ready to administer extreme unction to the dying; for every yearsome of the patients passed away during the journey. But she did not dareto have recourse to the alarm signal. Moreover, in the _cantine_ vanwhere Sister Saint Francois officiated, there was a doctor with a littlemedicine chest. If the sufferer should survive until they reachedPoitiers, where there would be half an hour's stoppage, all possible helpmight be given to him. 

But on the other hand he might suddenly expire. However, they ended bybecoming somewhat calmer. The man, though still unconscious, began tobreathe in a more regular manner, and seemed to fall asleep. 

"To think of it, to die before getting there, " murmured Marie with ashudder, "to die in sight of the promised land!" And as her father soughtto reassure her she added: "I am suffering--I am suffering dreadfullymyself. "

"Have confidence, " said Pierre; "the Blessed Virgin is watching overyou. "

She could no longer remain seated, and it became necessary to replace herin a recumbent position in her narrow coffin. Her father and the priesthad to take every precaution in doing so, for the slightest hurt drew amoan from her. And she lay there breathless, like one dead, her facecontracted by suffering, and surrounded by her regal fair hair. They hadnow been rolling on, ever rolling on for nearly four hours. And if thecarriage was so greatly shaken, with an unbearable spreading tendency, itwas from its position at the rear part of the train. The coupling ironsshrieked, the wheels growled furiously; and as it was necessary to leavethe windows partially open, the dust came in, acrid and burning; but itwas especially the heat which grew terrible, a devouring, stormy heatfalling from a tawny sky which large hanging clouds had slowly covered. The hot carriages, those rolling boxes where the pilgrims ate and drank, where the sick lay in a vitiated atmosphere, amid dizzying moans, prayers, and hymns, became like so many furnaces. 

And Marie was not the only one whose condition had been aggravated;others also were suffering from the journey. Resting in the lap of herdespairing mother, who gazed at her with large, tear-blurred eyes, littleRose had ceased to stir, and had grown so pale that Madame Maze had twiceleant forward to feel her hands, fearful lest she should find them cold. At each moment also Madame Sabathier had to move her husband's legs, fortheir weight was so great, said he, that it seemed as if his hips werebeing torn from him. Brother Isidore too had just begun to cry out, emerging from his wonted torpor; and his sister had only been able toassuage his sufferings by raising him, and clasping him in her arms. LaGrivotte seemed to be asleep, but a continuous hiccoughing shook her, anda tiny streamlet of blood dribbled from her mouth. Madame Vetu had againvomited, Elise Rouquet no longer thought of hiding the frightful soreopen on her face. And from the man yonder, breathing hard, there stillcame a lugubrious rattle, as though he were at every moment on the pointof expiring. In vain did Madame de Jonquiere and Sister Hyacinthe lavishtheir attentions on the patients, they could but slightly assuage so muchsuffering. At times it all seemed like an evil dream--that carriage ofwretchedness and pain, hurried along at express speed, with a continuousshaking and jolting which made everything hanging from the pegs--the oldclothes, the worn-out baskets mended with bits of string--swing to andfro incessantly. And in the compartment at the far end, the ten femalepilgrims, some old, some young, and all pitifully ugly, sang on without apause in cracked voices, shrill and dreary. 

Then Pierre began to think of the other carriages of the train, thatwhite train which conveyed most, if not all, of the more seriouslyafflicted patients; these carriages were rolling along, all displayingsimilar scenes of suffering among the three hundred sick and five hundredhealthy pilgrims crowded within them. And afterwards he thought of theother trains which were leaving Paris that day, the grey train and theblue train* which had preceded the white one, the green train, the yellowtrain, the pink train, the orange train which were following it. Fromhour to hour trains set out from one to the other end of France. And hethought, too, of those which that same morning had started from Orleans, Le Mans, Poitiers, Bordeaux, Marseilles, and Carcassonne. Coming from allparts, trains were rushing across that land of France at the same hour, all directing their course yonder towards the holy Grotto, bringingthirty thousand patients and pilgrims to the Virgin's feet. And hereflected that other days of the year witnessed a like rush of humanbeings, that not a week went by without Lourdes beholding the arrival ofsome pilgrimage; that it was not merely France which set out on themarch, but all Europe, the whole world; that in certain years of greatreligious fervour there had been three hundred thousand, and even fivehundred thousand, pilgrims and patients streaming to the spot. 

 * Different-coloured tickets are issued for these trains; it is for this reason that they are called the white, blue, and grey trains, etc. --Trans. 

Pierre fancied that he could hear those flying trains, those trains fromeverywhere, all converging towards the same rocky cavity where the taperswere blazing. They all rumbled loudly amid the cries of pain and snatchesof hymns wafted from their carriages. They were the rolling hospitals ofdisease at its last stage, of human suffering rushing to the hope ofcure, furiously seeking consolation between attacks of increasedseverity, with the ever-present threat of death--death hastened, supervening under awful conditions, amidst the mob-like scramble. Theyrolled on, they rolled on again and again, they rolled on without apause, carrying the wretchedness of the world on its way to the divineillusion, the health of the infirm, the consolation of the afflicted. 

And immense pity overflowed from Pierre's heart, human compassion for allthe suffering and all the tears that consumed weak and naked men. He wassad unto death and ardent charity burnt within him, the unextinguishableflame as it were of his fraternal feelings towards all things and beings. 

When they left the station of Saint Pierre des Corps at half-past ten, Sister Hyacinthe gave the signal, and they recited the third chaplet, thefive glorious mysteries, the Resurrection of Our Lord, the Ascension ofOur Lord, the Mission of the Holy Ghost, the Assumption of the MostBlessed Virgin, the Crowning of the Most Blessed Virgin. And afterwardsthey sang the canticle of Bernadette, that long, long chant, composed ofsix times ten couplets, to which the ever recurring Angelic Salutationserves as a refrain--a prolonged lullaby slowly besetting one until itends by penetrating one's entire being, transporting one into ecstaticsleep, in delicious expectancy of a miracle. 

II. PIERRE AND MARIE

THE green landscapes of Poitou were now defiling before them, and AbbePierre Froment, gazing out of the window, watched the trees fly awaytill, little by little, he ceased to distinguish them. A steeple appearedand then vanished, and all the pilgrims crossed themselves. They wouldnot reach Poitiers until twelve-thirty-five, and the train was stillrolling on amid the growing weariness of that oppressive, stormy day. Falling into a deep reverie, the young priest no longer heard the wordsof the canticle, which sounded in his ears merely like a slow, wavylullaby. 

Forgetfulness of the present had come upon him, an awakening of the pastfilled his whole being. He was reascending the stream of memory, reascending it to its source. He again beheld the house at Neuilly, wherehe had been born and where he still lived, that home of peace and toil, with its garden planted with a few fine trees, and parted by a quicksethedge and palisade from the garden of the neighbouring house, which wassimilar to his own. He was again three, perhaps four, years old, andround a table, shaded by the big horse-chestnut tree he once more beheldhis father, his mother, and his elder brother at _dejeuner_. To hisfather, Michel Froment, he could give no distinct lineaments; he picturedhim but faintly, vaguely, renowned as an illustrious chemist, bearing thetitle of Member of the Institute, and leading a cloistered life in thelaboratory which he had installed in that secluded, deserted suburb. However he could plainly see his first brother Guillaume, then fourteenyears of age, whom some holiday had brought from college that morning, and then and even more vividly his mother, so gentle and so quiet, witheyes so full of active kindliness. Later on he learnt what anguish hadracked that religious soul, that believing woman who, from esteem andgratitude, had resignedly accepted marriage with an unbeliever, hersenior by fifteen years, to whom her relatives were indebted for greatservices. He, Pierre, the tardy offspring of this union, born when hisfather was already near his fiftieth year, had only known his mother as arespectful, conquered woman in the presence of her husband, whom she hadlearnt to love passionately, with the frightful torment of knowing, however, that he was doomed to perdition. And, all at once, anothermemory flashed upon the young priest, the terrible memory of the day whenhis father had died, killed in his laboratory by an accident, theexplosion of a retort. He, Pierre, had then been five years old, and heremembered the slightest incidents--his mother's cry when she had foundthe shattered body among the remnants of the chemical appliances, thenher terror, her sobs, her prayers at the idea that God had slain theunbeliever, damned him for evermore. Not daring to burn his books andpapers, she had contented herself with locking up the laboratory, whichhenceforth nobody entered. And from that moment, haunted by a vision ofhell, she had had but one idea, to possess herself of her second son, whowas still so young, to give him a strictly religious training, andthrough him to ransom her husband--secure his forgiveness from God. Guillaume, her elder boy, had already ceased to belong to her, havinggrown up at college, where he had been won over by the ideas of thecentury; but she resolved that the other, the younger one, should notleave the house, but should have a priest as tutor; and her secret dream, her consuming hope, was that she might some day see him a priest himself, saying his first mass and solacing souls whom the thought of eternitytortured. 

Then between green, leafy boughs, flecked with sunlight, another figurerose vividly before Pierre's eyes. He suddenly beheld Marie de Guersaintas he had seen her one morning through a gap in the hedge dividing thetwo gardens. M. De Guersaint, who belonged to the petty Norman_noblesse_, was a combination of architect and inventor; and he was atthat time busy with a scheme of model dwellings for the poor, to whichchurches and schools were to be attached; an affair of considerablemagnitude, planned none too well, however, and in which, with hiscustomary impetuosity, the lack of foresight of an imperfect artist, hewas risking the three hundred thousand francs that he possessed. Asimilarity of religious faith had drawn Madame de Guersaint and MadameFroment together; but the former was altogether a superior woman, perspicuous and rigid, with an iron hand which alone prevented herhousehold from gliding to a catastrophe; and she was bringing up her twodaughters, Blanche and Marie, in principles of narrow piety, the elderone already being as grave as herself, whilst the younger, albeit verydevout, was still fond of play, with an intensity of life within herwhich found vent in gay peals of sonorous laughter. From their earlychildhood Pierre and Marie played together, the hedge was ever beingcrossed, the two families constantly mingled. And on that clear sunshinymorning, when he pictured her parting the leafy branches she was alreadyten years old. He, who was sixteen, was to enter the seminary on thefollowing Tuesday. Never had she seemed to him so pretty. Her hair, of apure golden hue, was so long that when it was let down it sufficed toclothe her. Well did he remember her face as it had been, with roundcheeks, blue eyes, red mouth, and skin of dazzling, snowy whiteness. Shewas indeed as gay and brilliant as the sun itself, a transplendency. Yetthere were tears at the corners of her eyes, for she was aware of hiscoming departure. They sat down together at the far end of the garden, inthe shadow cast by the hedge. Their hands mingled, and their hearts werevery heavy. They had, however, never exchanged any vows amid theirpastimes, for their innocence was absolute. But now, on the eve ofseparation, their mutual tenderness rose to their lips, and they spokewithout knowing, swore that they would ever think of one another, andfind one another again, some day, even as one meets in heaven to be very, very happy. Then, without understanding how it happened, they claspedeach other tightly, to the point of suffocation, and kissed each other'sface, weeping, the while, hot tears. And it was that delightful memorywhich Pierre had ever carried with him, which he felt alive within himstill, after so many years, and after so many painful renunciations. 

Just then a more violent shock roused him from his reverie. He turned hiseyes upon the carriage and vaguely espied the suffering beings itcontained--Madame Maze motionless, overwhelmed with grief; little Rosegently moaning in her mother's lap; La Grivotte, whom a hoarse cough waschoking. For a moment Sister Hyacinthe's gay face shone out amidst thewhiteness of her coif and wimple, dominating all the others. The painfuljourney was continuing, with a ray of divine hope still and ever shiningyonder. Then everything slowly vanished from Pierre's eyes as a freshwave of memory brought the past back from afar; and nothing of thepresent remained save the lulling hymn, the indistinct voices ofdreamland, emerging from the invisible. 

Henceforth he was at the seminary. The classrooms, the recreation groundwith its trees, rose up clearly before him. But all at once he onlybeheld, as in a mirror, the youthful face which had then been his, and hecontemplated it and scrutinised it, as though it had been the face of astranger. Tall and slender, he had an elongated visage, with an unusuallydeveloped forehead, lofty and straight like a tower; whilst his jawstapered, ending in a small refined chin. He seemed, in fact, to be allbrains; his mouth, rather large, alone retained an expression oftenderness. Indeed, when his usually serious face relaxed, his mouth andeyes acquired an exceedingly soft expression, betokening an unsatisfied, hungry desire to love, devote oneself, and live. But immediatelyafterwards, the look of intellectual passion would come back again, thatintellectuality which had ever consumed him with an anxiety to understandand know. And it was with surprise that he now recalled those years ofseminary life. How was it that he had so long been able to accept therude discipline of blind faith, of obedient belief in everything withoutthe slightest examination? It had been required of him that he shouldabsolutely surrender his reasoning faculties, and he had striven to doso, had succeeded indeed in stifling his torturing need of truth. Doubtless he had been softened, weakened by his mother's tears, had beenpossessed by the sole desire to afford her the great happiness she dreamtof. Yet now he remembered certain quiverings of revolt; he found in thedepths of his mind the memory of nights which he had spent in weepingwithout knowing why, nights peopled with vague images, nights throughwhich galloped the free, virile life of the world, when Marie's faceincessantly returned to him, such as he had seen it one morning, dazzlingand bathed in tears, while she embraced him with her whole soul. And thatalone now remained; his years of religious study with their monotonouslessons, their ever similar exercises and ceremonies, had flown away intothe same haze, into a vague half-light, full of mortal silence. 

Then, just as the train had passed though a station at full speed, withthe sudden uproar of its rush there arose within him a succession ofconfused visions. He had noticed a large deserted enclosure, and fanciedthat he could see himself within it at twenty years of age. His reveriewas wandering. An indisposition of rather long duration had, however, atone time interrupted his studies, and led to his being sent into thecountry. He had remained for a long time without seeing Marie; during hisvacations spent at Neuilly he had twice failed to meet her, for she wasalmost always travelling. He knew that she was very ill, in consequenceof a fall from a horse when she was thirteen, a critical moment in agirl's life; and her despairing mother, perplexed by the contradictoryadvice of medical men, was taking her each year to a differentwatering-place. Then he learnt the startling news of the sudden tragicaldeath of that mother, who was so severe and yet so useful to her kin. Shehad been carried off in five days by inflammation of the lungs, which shehad contracted one evening whilst she was out walking at La Bourboule, through having taken off her mantle to place it round the shoulders ofMarie, who had been conveyed thither for treatment. It had been necessarythat the father should at once start off to fetch his daughter, who wasmad with grief, and the corpse of his wife, who had been so suddenly tornfrom him. And unhappily, after losing her, the affairs of the family wentfrom bad to worse in the hands of this architect, who, without counting, flung his fortune into the yawning gulf of his unsuccessful enterprises. Marie no longer stirred from her couch; only Blanche remained to managethe household, and she had matters of her own to attend to, being busywith the last examinations which she had to pass, the diplomas which shewas obstinately intent on securing, foreseeing as she did that she wouldsomeday have to earn her bread. 

All at once, from amidst this mass of confused, half-forgotten incidents, Pierre was conscious of the rise of a vivid vision. Ill-health, heremembered, had again compelled him to take a holiday. He had justcompleted his twenty-fourth year, he was greatly behindhand, having sofar only secured the four minor orders; but on his return asub-deaconship would be conferred on him, and an inviolable vow wouldbind him for evermore. And the Guersaints' little garden at Neuilly, whither he had formerly so often gone to play, again distinctly appearedbefore him. Marie's couch had been rolled under the tall trees at the farend of the garden near the hedge, they were alone together in the sadpeacefulness of an autumnal afternoon, and he saw Marie, clad in deepmourning for her mother and reclining there with legs inert; whilst he, also clad in black, in a cassock already, sat near her on an iron gardenchair. For five years she had been suffering. She was now eighteen, palerand thinner than formerly, but still adorable with her regal golden hair, which illness respected. He believed from what he had heard that she wasdestined to remain infirm, condemned never to become a woman, strickeneven in her sex. The doctors, who failed to agree respecting her case, had abandoned her. Doubtless it was she who told him these things thatdreary afternoon, whilst the yellow withered leaves rained upon them. However, he could not remember the words that they had spoken; her palesmile, her young face, still so charming though already dimmed byregretfulness for life, alone remained present with him. But he realisedthat she had evoked the far-off day of their parting, on that same spot, behind the hedge flecked with sunlight; and all that was already asthough dead--their tears, their embrace, their promise to find oneanother some day with a certainty of happiness. For although they hadfound one another again, what availed it, since she was but a corpse, andhe was about to bid farewell to the life of the world? As the doctorscondemned her, as she would never be woman, nor wife, nor mother, he, onhis side, might well renounce manhood, and annihilate himself, dedicatehimself to God, to whom his mother gave him. And he still felt within himthe soft bitterness of that last interview: Marie smiling painfully atmemory of their childish play and prattle, and speaking to him of thehappiness which he would assuredly find in the service of God; sopenetrated indeed with emotion at this thought, that she had made himpromise that he would let her hear him say his first mass. 

But the train was passing the station of Sainte-Maure, and just then asudden uproar momentarily brought Pierre's attention back to the carriageand its occupants. He fancied that there had been some fresh seizure orswooning, but the suffering faces that he beheld were still the same, ever contracted by the same expression of anxious waiting for the divinesuccour which was so slow in coming. M. Sabathier was vainly striving toget his legs into a comfortable position, whilst Brother Isidore raised afeeble continuous moan like a dying child, and Madame Vetu, a prey toterrible agony, devoured by her disease, sat motionless, and kept herlips tightly closed, her face distorted, haggard, and almost black. Thenoise which Pierre had heard had been occasioned by Madame de Jonquiere, who whilst cleansing a basin had dropped the large zinc water-can. And, despite their torment, this had made the patients laugh, like the simplesouls they were, rendered puerile by suffering. However, SisterHyacinthe, who rightly called them her children, children whom shegoverned with a word, at once set them saying the chaplet again, pendingthe Angelus, which would only be said at Chatellerault, in accordancewith the predetermined programme. And thereupon the "Aves" followed oneafter the other, spreading into a confused murmuring and mumbling amidstthe rattling of the coupling irons and noisy growling of the wheels. 

Pierre had meantime relapsed into his reverie, and beheld himself as hehad been at six-and-twenty, when ordained a priest. Tardy scruples hadcome to him a few days before his ordination, a semi-consciousness thathe was binding himself without having clearly questioned his heart andmind. But he had avoided doing so, living in the dizzy bewilderment ofhis decision, fancying that he had lopped off all human ties and feelingswith a voluntary hatchet-stroke. His flesh had surely died with hischildhood's innocent romance, that white-skinned girl with golden hair, whom now he never beheld otherwise than stretched upon her couch ofsuffering, her flesh as lifeless as his own. And he had afterwards madethe sacrifice of his mind, which he then fancied even an easier one, hoping as he did that determination would suffice to prevent him fromthinking. Besides, it was too late, he could not recoil at the lastmoment, and if when he pronounced the last solemn vow he felt a secretterror, an indeterminate but immense regret agitating him, he forgoteverything, saving a divine reward for his efforts on the day when heafforded his mother the great and long-expected joy of hearing him sayhis first mass. 

He could still see the poor woman in the little church of Neuilly, whichshe herself had selected, the church where the funeral service for hisfather had been celebrated; he saw her on that cold November morning, kneeling almost alone in the dark little chapel, her hands hiding herface as she continued weeping whilst he raised the Host. It was therethat she had tasted her last happiness, for she led a sad and lonelylife, no longer seeing her elder son, who had gone away, swayed by otherideas than her own, bent on breaking off all family intercourse since hisbrother intended to enter the Church. It was said that Guillaume, achemist of great talent, like his father, but at the same time aBohemian, addicted to revolutionary dreams, was living in a little housein the suburbs, where he devoted himself to the dangerous study ofexplosive substances; and folks added that he was living with a woman whohad come no one knew whence. This it was which had severed the last tiebetween himself and his mother, all piety and propriety. For three yearsPierre had not once seen Guillaume, whom in his childhood he hadworshipped as a kind, merry, and fatherly big brother. 

But there came an awful pang to his heart--he once more beheld his motherlying dead. This again was a thunderbolt, an illness of scarce threedays' duration, a sudden passing away, as in the case of Madame deGuersaint. One evening, after a wild hunt for the doctor, he had foundher motionless and quite white. She had died during his absence; and hislips had ever retained the icy thrill of the last kiss that he had givenher. Of everything else--the vigil, the preparations, the funeral--heremembered nothing. All that had become lost in the black night of hisstupor and grief, grief so extreme that he had almost died of it--seizedwith shivering on his return from the cemetery, struck down by a feverwhich during three weeks had kept him delirious, hovering between lifeand death. His brother had come and nursed him and had then attended topecuniary matters, dividing the little inheritance, leaving him the houseand a modest income and taking his own share in money. And as soon asGuillaume had found him out of danger he had gone off again, once morevanishing into the unknown. But then through what a long convalescencehe, Pierre, had passed, buried as it were in that deserted house. He haddone nothing to detain Guillaume, for he realised that there was an abyssbetween them. At first the solitude had brought him suffering, butafterwards it had grown very pleasant, whether in the deep silence of therooms which the rare noises of the street did not disturb, or under thescreening, shady foliage of the little garden, where he could spend wholedays without seeing a soul. His favourite place of refuge, however, wasthe old laboratory, his father's cabinet, which his mother for twentyyears had kept carefully locked up, as though to immure within it all theincredulity and damnation of the past. And despite the gentleness, therespectful submissiveness which she had shown in former times, she wouldperhaps have some day ended by destroying all her husband's books andpapers, had not death so suddenly surprised her. Pierre, however, hadonce more had the windows opened, the writing-table and the bookcasedusted; and, installed in the large leather arm-chair, he now spentdelicious hours there, regenerated as it were by his illness, broughtback to his youthful days again, deriving a wondrous intellectual delightfrom the perusal of the books which he came upon. 

The only person whom he remembered having received during those twomonths of slow recovery was Doctor Chassaigne, an old friend of hisfather, a medical man of real merit, who, with the one ambition of curingdisease, modestly confined himself to the _role_ of the practitioner. Itwas in vain that the doctor had sought to save Madame Froment, but heflattered himself that he had extricated the young priest from grievousdanger; and he came to see him from time to time, to chat with him andcheer him, talking with him of his father, the great chemist, of whom herecounted many a charming anecdote, many a particular, still glowing withthe flame of ardent friendship. Little by little, amidst the weak languorof convalescence, the son had thus beheld an embodiment of charmingsimplicity, affection, and good nature rising up before him. It was hisfather such as he had really been, not the man of stern science whom hehad pictured whilst listening to his mother. Certainly she had nevertaught him aught but respect for that dear memory; but had not herhusband been the unbeliever, the man who denied, and made the angelsweep, the artisan of impiety who sought to change the world that God hadmade? And so he had long remained a gloomy vision, a spectre of damnationprowling about the house, whereas now he became the house's very light, clear and gay, a worker consumed by a longing for truth, who had neverdesired anything but the love and happiness of all. For his part, DoctorChassaigne, a Pyrenean by birth, born in a far-off secluded village wherefolks still believed in sorceresses, inclined rather towards religion, although he had not set his foot inside a church during the forty yearshe had been living in Paris. However, his conviction was absolute: ifthere were a heaven somewhere, Michel Froment was assuredly there, andnot merely there, but seated upon a throne on the Divinity's right hand. 

Then Pierre, in a few minutes, again lived through the frightful tormentwhich, during two long months, had ravaged him. It was not that he hadfound controversial works of an anti-religious character in the bookcase, or that his father, whose papers he sorted, had ever gone beyond histechnical studies as a _savant_. But little by little, despite himself, the light of science dawned upon him, an _ensemble_ of proven phenomena, which demolished dogmas and left within him nothing of the things whichas a priest he should have believed. It seemed, in fact, as thoughillness had renewed him, as though he were again beginning to live andlearn amidst the physical pleasantness of convalescence, that stillsubsisting weakness which lent penetrating lucidity to his brain. At theseminary, by the advice of his masters, he had always kept the spirit ofinquiry, his thirst for knowledge, in check. Much of that which wastaught him there had surprised him; however, he had succeeded in makingthe sacrifice of his mind required of his piety. But now, all thelaboriously raised scaffolding of dogmas was swept away in a revolt ofthat sovereign mind which clamoured for its rights, and which he could nolonger silence. Truth was bubbling up and overflowing in such anirresistible stream that he realised he would never succeed in lodgingerror in his brain again. It was indeed the total and irreparable ruin offaith. Although he had been able to kill his flesh by renouncing theromance of his youth, although he felt that he had altogether masteredcarnal passion, he now knew that it would be impossible for him to makethe sacrifice of his intelligence. And he was not mistaken; it was indeedhis father again springing to life in the depths of his being, and atlast obtaining the mastery in that dual heredity in which, during so manyyears, his mother had dominated. The upper part of his face, hisstraight, towering brow, seemed to have risen yet higher, whilst thelower part, the small chin, the affectionate mouth, were becoming lessdistinct. However, he suffered; at certain twilight hours when hiskindliness, his need of love awoke, he felt distracted with grief at nolonger believing, distracted with desire to believe again; and it wasnecessary that the lighted lamp should be brought in, that he should seeclearly around him and within him, before he could recover the energy andcalmness of reason, the strength of martyrdom, the determination tosacrifice everything to the peace of his conscience. 

Then came the crisis. He was a priest and he no longer believed. This hadsuddenly dawned before him like a bottomless abyss. It was the end of hislife, the collapse of everything. What should he do? Did not simplerectitude require that he should throw off the cassock and return to theworld? But he had seen some renegade priests and had despised them. Amarried priest with whom he was acquainted filled him with disgust. Allthis, no doubt, was but a survival of his long religious training. Heretained the notion that a priest cannot, must not, weaken; the idea thatwhen one has dedicated oneself to God one cannot take possession ofoneself again. Possibly, also, he felt that he was too plainly branded, too different from other men already, to prove otherwise than awkward andunwelcome among them. Since he had been cut off from them he would remainapart in his grievous pride; And, after days of anguish, days of struggleincessantly renewed, in which his thirst for happiness warred with theenergies of his returning health, he took the heroic resolution to remaina priest, and an honest one. He would find the strength necessary forsuch abnegation. Since he had conquered the flesh, albeit unable toconquer the brain, he felt sure of keeping his vow of chastity, and thatwould be unshakable; therein lay the pure, upright life which he wasabsolutely certain of living. What mattered the rest if he alonesuffered, if nobody in the world suspected that his heart was reduced toashes, that nothing remained of his faith, that he was agonising amidstfearful falsehood? His rectitude would prove a firm prop; he would followhis priestly calling like an honest man, without breaking any of the vowshe had taken; he would, in due accordance with the rites, discharge hisduties as a minister of the Divinity, whom he would praise and glorify atthe altar, and distribute as the Bread of Life to the faithful. Who, then, would dare to impute his loss of faith to him as a crime, even ifthis great misfortune should some day become known? And what more couldbe asked of him than lifelong devotion to his vow, regard for hisministry, and the practice of every charity without the hope of anyfuture reward? In this wise he ended by calming himself, still upright, still bearing his head erect, with the desolate grandeur of the priestwho himself no longer believes, but continues watching over the faith ofothers. And he certainly was not alone; he felt that he had manybrothers, priests with ravaged minds, who had sunk into incredulity, andwho yet, like soldiers without a fatherland, remained at the altar, and, despite, everything, found the courage to make the divine illusion shineforth above the kneeling crowds. 

On recovering his health Pierre had immediately resumed his service atthe little church of Neuilly. He said his mass there every morning. Buthe had resolved to refuse any appointment, any preferment. Months andyears went by, and he obstinately insisted on remaining the least knownand the most humble of those priests who are tolerated in a parish, whoappear and disappear after discharging their duty. The acceptance of anyappointment would have seemed to him an aggravation of his falsehood, atheft from those who were more deserving than himself. And he had toresist frequent offers, for it was impossible for his merits to remainunnoticed. Indeed, his obstinate modesty provoked astonishment at thearchbishop's palace, where there was a desire to utilise the power whichcould be divined in him. Now and again, it is true, he bitterly regrettedthat he was not useful, that he did not co-operate in some great work, infurthering the purification of the world, the salvation and happiness ofall, in accordance with his own ardent, torturing desire. Fortunately histime was nearly all his own, and to console himself he gave rein to hispassion for work by devouring every volume in his father's bookcase, andthen again resuming and considering his studies, feverishly preoccupiedwith regard to the history of nations, full of a desire to explore thedepths of the social and religious crisis so that he might ascertainwhether it were really beyond remedy. 

It was at this time, whilst rummaging one morning in one of the largedrawers in the lower part of the bookcase, that he discovered quite acollection of papers respecting the apparitions of Lourdes. It was a verycomplete set of documents, comprising detailed notes of theinterrogatories to which Bernadette had been subjected, copies ofnumerous official documents, and police and medical reports, in additionto many private and confidential letters of the greatest interest. Thisdiscovery had surprised Pierre, and he had questioned, Doctor Chassaigneconcerning it. The latter thereupon remembered that his friend, MichelFroment, had at one time passionately devoted himself to the study ofBernadette's case; and he himself, a native of the village near Lourdes, had procured for the chemist a portion of the documents in thecollection. Pierre, in his turn, then became impassioned, and for a wholemonth continued studying the affair, powerfully attracted by thevisionary's pure, upright nature, but indignant with all that hadsubsequently sprouted up--the barbarous fetishism, the painfulsuperstitions, and the triumphant simony. In the access of unbelief whichhad come upon him, this story of Lourdes was certainly of a nature tocomplete the collapse of his faith. However, it had also excited hiscuriosity, and he would have liked to investigate it, to establish beyonddispute what scientific truth might be in it, and render pureChristianity the service of ridding it of this scoria, this fairy tale, all touching and childish as it was. But he had been obliged torelinquish his studies, shrinking from the necessity of making a journeyto the Grotto, and finding that it would be extremely difficult to obtainthe information which he still needed; and of it all there at last onlyremained within him a tender feeling for Bernadette, of whom he could notthink without a sensation of delightful charm and infinite pity. 

The days went by, and Pierre led a more and more lonely life. DoctorChassaigne had just left for the Pyrenees in a state of mortal anxiety. Abandoning his patients, he had set out for Cauterets with his ailingwife, who was sinking more and more each day, to the infinite distress ofboth his charming daughter and himself. From that moment the little houseat Neuilly fell into deathlike silence and emptiness. Pierre had no otherdistraction than that of occasionally going to see the Guersaints, whohad long since left the neighbouring house, but whom he had found againin a small lodging in a wretched tenement of the district. And the memoryof his first visit to them there was yet so fresh within him, that hefelt a pang at his heart as he recalled his emotion at sight of thehapless Marie. 

That pang roused him from his reverie, and on looking round he perceivedMarie stretched on the seat, even as he had found her on the day which herecalled, already imprisoned in that gutter-like box, that coffin towhich wheels were adapted when she was taken out-of-doors for an airing. She, formerly so brimful of life, ever astir and laughing, was dying ofinaction and immobility in that box. Of her old-time beauty she hadretained nothing save her hair, which clad her as with a royal mantle, and she was so emaciated that she seemed to have grown smaller again, tohave become once more a child. And what was most distressing was theexpression on her pale face, the blank, frigid stare of her eyes whichdid not see, the ever haunting absent look, as of one whom sufferingoverwhelmed. However, she noticed that Pierre was gazing at her, and atonce desired to smile at him; but irresistible moans escaped her, andwhen she did at last smile, it was like a poor smitten creature who isconvinced that she will expire before the miracle takes place. He wasovercome by it, and, amidst all the sufferings with which the carriageabounded, hers were now the only ones that he beheld and heard, as thoughone and all were summed up in her, in the long and terrible agony of herbeauty, gaiety, and youth. 

Then by degrees, without taking his eyes from Marie, he again reverted toformer days, again lived those hours, fraught with a mournful and bittercharm, which he had often spent beside her, when he called at the sorrylodging to keep her company. M. De Guersaint had finally ruined himselfby trying to improve the artistic quality of the religious prints sowidely sold in France, the faulty execution of which quite irritated him. His last resources had been swallowed up in the failure of acolour-printing firm; and, heedless as he was, deficient in foresight, ever trusting in Providence, his childish mind continually swayed byillusions, he did not notice the awful pecuniary embarrassment of thehousehold; but applied himself to the study of aerial navigation, withouteven realising what prodigious activity his elder daughter, Blanche, wasforced to display, in order to earn the living of her two children, asshe was wont to call her father and her sister. It was Blanche who, byrunning about Paris in the dust or the mud from morning to evening inorder to give French or music lessons, contrived to provide the moneynecessary for the unremitting attentions which Marie required. And Marieoften experienced attacks of despair--bursting into tears and accusingherself of being the primary cause of their ruin, as for years and yearsnow it had been necessary to pay for medical attendance and for takingher to almost every imaginable spring--La Bourboule, Aix, Lamalou, Amelie-les-Bains, and others. And the outcome of ten years of varieddiagnosis and treatment was that the doctors had now abandoned her. Somethought her illness to be due to the rupture of certain ligaments, othersbelieved in the presence of a tumour, others again to paralysis due toinjury to the spinal cord, and as she, with maidenly revolt, refused toundergo any examination, and they did not even dare to address precisequestions to her, they each contented themselves with their severalopinions and declared that she was beyond cure. Moreover, she now solelyrelied upon the divine help, having grown rigidly pious since she hadbeen suffering, and finding her only relief in her ardent faith. Everymorning she herself read the holy offices, for to her great sorrow shewas unable to go to church. Her inert limbs indeed seemed quite lifeless, and she had sunk into a condition of extreme weakness, to such a point, in fact, that on certain days it became necessary for her sister to placeher food in her mouth. 

Pierre was thinking of this when all at once he recalled an evening hehad spent with her. The lamp had not yet been lighted, he was seatedbeside her in the growing obscurity, and she suddenly told him that shewished to go to Lourdes, feeling certain that she would return cured. Hehad experienced an uncomfortable sensation on hearing her speak in thisfashion, and quite forgetting himself had exclaimed that it was folly tobelieve in such childishness. He had hitherto made it a rule never toconverse with her on religious matters, having not only refused to be herconfessor, but even to advise her with regard to the petty uncertaintiesof her pietism. In this respect he was influenced by feelings of mingledshame and compassion; to lie to her of all people would have made himsuffer, and, moreover, he would have deemed himself a criminal had heeven by a breath sullied that fervent pure faith which lent her suchstrength against pain. And so, regretting that he had not been able torestrain his exclamation, he remained sorely embarrassed, when all atonce he felt the girl's cold hand take hold of his own. And then, emboldened by the darkness, she ventured in a gentle, faltering voice, totell him that she already knew his secret, his misfortune, thatwretchedness, so fearful for a priest, of being unable to believe. 

Despite himself he had revealed everything during their chats together, and she, with the delicate intuition of a friend, had been able to readhis conscience. She felt terribly distressed on his account; she deemedhim, with that mortal moral malady, to be more deserving of pity thanherself. And then as he, thunderstruck, was still unable to find ananswer, acknowledging the truth of her words by his very silence, sheagain began to speak to him of Lourdes, adding in a low whisper that shewished to confide him as well as herself to the protection of the BlessedVirgin, whom she entreated to restore him to faith. And from that eveningforward she did not cease speaking on the subject, repeating again andagain, that if she went to Lourdes she would be surely cured. But she wasprevented from making the journey by lack of means and she did not evendare to speak to her sister of the pecuniary question. So two months wentby, and day by day she grew weaker, exhausted by her longing dreams, hereyes ever turned towards the flashing light of the miraculous Grotto faraway. Pierre then experienced many painful days. He had at first toldMarie that he would not accompany her. But his decision was somewhatshaken by the thought that if he made up his mind to go, he might profitby the journey to continue his inquiries with regard to Bernadette, whosecharming image lingered in his heart. And at last he even felt penetratedby a delightful feeling, an unacknowledged hope, the hope that Marie wasperhaps right, that the Virgin might take pity on him and restore to himhis former blind faith, the faith of the child who loves and does notquestion. Oh! to believe, to believe with his whole soul, to plunge intofaith for ever! Doubtless there was no other possible happiness. Helonged for faith with all the joyousness of his youth, with all the lovethat he had felt for his mother, with all his burning desire to escapefrom the torment of understanding and knowing, and to slumber forever inthe depths of divine ignorance. It was cowardly, and yet so delightful;to exist no more, to become a mere thing in the hands of the Divinity. And thus he was at last possessed by a desire to make the supremeexperiment. 

A week later the journey to Lourdes was decided upon. Pierre, however, had insisted on a final consultation of medical men in order to ascertainif it were really possible for Marie to travel; and this again was ascene which rose up before him, with certain incidents which he everbeheld whilst others were already fading from his mind. Two of thedoctors who had formerly attended the patient, and one of whom believedin the rupture of certain ligaments, whilst the other asserted the caseto be one of medullary paralysis, had ended by agreeing that thisparalysis existed, and that there was also, possibly, some ligamentaryinjury. In their opinion all the symptoms pointed to this diagnosis, andthe nature of the case seemed to them so evident that they did nothesitate to give certificates, each his own, agreeing almost word forword with one another, and so positive in character as to leave no roomfor doubt. Moreover, they thought that the journey was practicable, though it would certainly prove an exceedingly painful one. Pierrethereupon resolved to risk it, for he had found the doctors very prudent, and very desirous to arrive at the truth; and he retained but a confusedrecollection of the third medical man who had been called in, a distantcousin of his named De Beauclair, who was young, extremely intelligent, but little known as yet, and said by some to be rather strange in histheories. This doctor, after looking at Marie for a long time, had askedsomewhat anxiously about her parents, and had seemed greatly interestedby what was told him of M. De Guersaint, this architect and inventor witha weak and exuberant mind. Then he had desired to measure the sufferer'svisual field, and by a slight discreet touch had ascertained the localityof the pain, which, under certain pressure, seemed to ascend like a heavyshifting mass towards the breast. He did not appear to attach importanceto the paralysis of the legs; but on a direct question being put to himhe exclaimed that the girl ought to be taken to Lourdes and that shewould assuredly be cured there, if she herself were convinced of it. Faith sufficed, said he, with a smile; two pious lady patients of his, whom he had sent thither during the preceding year, had returned inradiant health. He even predicted how the miracle would come about; itwould be like a lightning stroke, an awakening, an exaltation of theentire being, whilst the evil, that horrid, diabolical weight whichstifled the poor girl would once more ascend and fly away as thoughemerging by her mouth. But at the same time he flatly declined to give acertificate. He had failed to agree with his two _confreres_, who treatedhim coldly, as though they considered him a wild, adventurous youngfellow. Pierre confusedly remembered some shreds of the discussion whichhad begun again in his presence, some little part of the diagnosis framedby Beauclair. First, a dislocation of the organ, with a slight lacerationof the ligaments, resulting from the patient's fall from her horse; thena slow healing, everything returning to its place, followed byconsecutive nervous symptoms, so that the sufferer was now simply besetby her original fright, her attention fixed on the injured part, arrestedthere amidst increasing pain, incapable of acquiring fresh notions unlessit were under the lash of some violent emotion. Moreover, he alsoadmitted the probability of accidents due to nutrition, as yetunexplained, and on the course and importance of which he himself wouldnot venture to give an opinion. However, the idea that Marie _dreamt_ herdisease, that the fearful sufferings torturing her came from an injurylong since healed, appeared such a paradox to Pierre when he gazed at herand saw her in such agony, her limbs already stretched out lifeless onher bed of misery, that he did not even pause to consider it; but at thatmoment felt simply happy in the thought that all three doctors agreed inauthorising the journey to Lourdes. To him it was sufficient that she_might_ be cured, and to attain that result he would have followed her tothe end of the world. 

Ah! those last days of Paris, amid what a scramble they were spent! Thenational pilgrimage was about to start, and in order to avoid heavyexpenses, it had occurred to him to obtain _hospitalisation_ for Marie. Then he had been obliged to run about in order to obtain his ownadmission, as a helper, into the Hospitality of Our Lady of Salvation. M. De Guersaint was delighted with the prospect of the journey, for he wasfond of nature, and ardently desired to become acquainted with thePyrenees. Moreover, he did not allow anything to worry him, but wasperfectly willing that the young priest should pay his railway fare, andprovide for him at the hotel yonder as for a child; and his daughterBlanche, having slipped a twenty-franc piece into his hand at the lastmoment, he had even thought himself rich again. That poor brave Blanchehad a little hidden store of her own, savings to the amount of fiftyfrancs, which it had been absolutely necessary to accept, for she becamequite angry in her determination to contribute towards her sister's cure, unable as she was to form one of the party, owing to the lessons whichshe had to give in Paris, whose hard pavements she must continue pacing, whilst her dear ones were kneeling yonder, amidst the enchantments of theGrotto. And so the others had started on, and were now rolling, everrolling along. 

As they passed the station of Chatellerault a sudden burst of voices madePierre start, and drove away the torpor into which his reverie hadplunged him. What was the matter? Were they reaching Poitiers? But it wasonly half-past twelve o'clock, and it was simply Sister Hyacinthe who hadroused him, by making her patients and pilgrims say the Angelus, thethree "Aves" thrice repeated. Then the voices burst forth, and the soundof a fresh canticle arose, and continued like a lamentation. Fully fiveand twenty minutes must elapse before they would reach Poitiers, where itseemed as if the half-hour's stoppage would bring relief to everysuffering! They were all so uncomfortable, so roughly shaken in thatmalodorous, burning carriage! Such wretchedness was beyond endurance. Bigtears coursed down the cheeks of Madame Vincent, a muttered oath escapedM. Sabathier usually so resigned, and Brother Isidore, La Grivotte, andMadame Vetu seemed to have become inanimate, mere waifs carried along bya torrent. Moreover, Marie no longer answered, but had closed her eyesand would not open them, pursued as she was by the horrible vision ofElise Rouquet's face, that face with its gaping cavities which seemed toher to be the image of death. And whilst the train increased its speed, bearing all this human despair onward, under the heavy sky, athwart theburning plains, there was yet another scare in the carriage. The strangeman had apparently ceased to breathe, and a voice cried out that he wasexpiring. 

III. POITIERS

AS soon as the train arrived at Poitiers, Sister Hyacinthe alighted inall haste, amidst the crowd of porters opening the carriage doors, and ofpilgrims darting forward to reach the platform. "Wait a moment, wait amoment, " she repeated, "let me pass first. I wish to see if all is over. "

Then, having entered the other compartment, she raised the strange man'shead, and seeing him so pale, with such blank eyes, she did at firstthink him already dead. At last, however, she detected a faint breathing. "No, no, " she then exclaimed, "he still breathes. Quick! there is no timeto be lost. " And, perceiving the other Sister, she added: "Sister Clairedes Anges, will you go and fetch Father Massias, who must be in the thirdor fourth carriage of the train? Tell him that we have a patient in verygreat danger here, and ask him to bring the Holy Oils at once. "

Without answering, the other Sister at once plunged into the midst of thescramble. She was small, slender, and gentle, with a meditative air andmysterious eyes, but withal extremely active. 

Pierre, who was standing in the other compartment watching the scene, nowventured to make a suggestion: "And would it not be as well to fetch thedoctor?" said he. 

"Yes, I was thinking of it, " replied Sister Hyacinthe, "and, Monsieurl'Abbe, it would be very kind of you to go for him yourself. "

It so happened that Pierre intended going to the cantine carriage tofetch some broth for Marie. Now that she was no longer being jolted shefelt somewhat relieved, and had opened her eyes, and caused her father toraise her to a sitting posture. Keenly thirsting for fresh air, she wouldhave much liked them to carry her out on to the platform for a moment, but she felt that it would be asking too much, that it would be tootroublesome a task to place her inside the carriage again. So M. DeGuersaint remained by himself on the platform, near the open door, smoking a cigarette, whilst Pierre hastened to the cantine van, where heknew he would find the doctor on duty, with his travelling pharmacy. 

Some other patients, whom one could not think of removing, also remainedin the carriage. Amongst them was La Grivotte, who was stifling andalmost delirious, in such a state indeed as to detain Madame deJonquiere, who had arranged to meet her daughter Raymonde, with MadameVolmar and Madame Desagneaux, in the refreshment-room, in order that theymight all four lunch together. But that unfortunate creature seemed onthe point of expiring, so how could she leave her all alone, on the hardseat of that carriage? On his side, M. Sabathier, likewise riveted to hisseat, was waiting for his wife, who had gone to fetch a bunch of grapesfor him; whilst Marthe had remained with her brother the missionary, whose faint moan never ceased. The others, those who were able to walk, had hustled one another in their haste to alight, all eager as they wereto escape for a moment from that cage of wretchedness where their limbshad been quite numbed by the seven hours' journey which they had so fargone. Madame Maze had at once drawn apart, straying with melancholy faceto the far end of the platform, where she found herself all alone; MadameVetu, stupefied by her sufferings, had found sufficient strength to takea few steps, and sit down on a bench, in the full sunlight, where she didnot even feel the burning heat; whilst Elise Rouquet, who had had thedecency to cover her face with a black wrap, and was consumed by a desirefor fresh water, went hither and thither in search of a drinkingfountain. And meantime Madame Vincent, walking slowly, carried her littleRose about in her arms, trying to smile at her, and to cheer her byshowing her some gaudily coloured picture bills, which the child gravelygazed at, but did not see. 

Pierre had the greatest possible difficulty in making his way through thecrowd inundating the platform. No effort of imagination could enable oneto picture the living torrent of ailing and healthy beings which thetrain had here set down--a mob of more than a thousand persons justemerging from suffocation, and bustling, hurrying hither and thither. Each carriage had contributed its share of wretchedness, like somehospital ward suddenly evacuated; and it was now possible to form an ideaof the frightful amount of suffering which this terrible white traincarried along with it, this train which disseminated a legend of horrorwheresoever it passed. Some infirm sufferers were dragging themselvesabout, others were being carried, and many remained in a heap on theplatform. There were sudden pushes, violent calls, innumerable displaysof distracted eagerness to reach the refreshment-room and the _buvette_. Each and all made haste, going wheresoever their wants called them. Thisstoppage of half an hour's duration, the only stoppage there would bebefore reaching Lourdes, was, after all, such a short one. And the onlygay note, amidst all the black cassocks and the threadbare garments ofthe poor, never of any precise shade of colour, was supplied by thesmiling whiteness of the Little Sisters of the Assumption, all bright andactive in their snowy coifs, wimples, and aprons. 

When Pierre at last reached the cantine van near the middle of the train, he found it already besieged. There was here a petroleum stove, with asmall supply of cooking utensils. The broth prepared from concentratedmeat-extract was being warmed in wrought-iron pans, whilst the preservedmilk in tins was diluted and supplied as occasion required. There weresome other provisions, such as biscuits, fruit, and chocolate, on a fewshelves. But Sister Saint-Francois, to whom the service was entrusted, ashort, stout woman of five-and-forty, with a good-natured fresh-colouredface, was somewhat losing her head in the presence of all the hands soeagerly stretched towards her. Whilst continuing her distribution, shelent ear to Pierre, as he called the doctor, who with his travellingpharmacy occupied another corner of the van. Then, when the young priestbegan to explain matters, speaking of the poor unknown man who was dying, a sudden desire came to her to go and see him, and she summoned anotherSister to take her place. 

"Oh! I wished to ask you, Sister, for some broth for a passenger who isill, " said Pierre, at that moment turning towards her. 

"Very well, Monsieur l'Abbe, I will bring some. Go on in front. "

The doctor and the abbe went off in all haste, rapidly questioning andanswering one another, whilst behind them followed Sister Saint-Francois, carrying the bowl of broth with all possible caution amidst the jostlingof the crowd. The doctor was a dark-complexioned man of eight-and-twenty, robust and extremely handsome, with the head of a young Roman emperor, such as may still be occasionally met with in the sunburnt land ofProvence. As soon as Sister Hyacinthe caught sight of him, she raised anexclamation of surprise: "What! Monsieur Ferrand, is it you?" Indeed, they both seemed amazed at meeting in this manner. 

It is, however, the courageous mission of the Sisters of the Assumptionto tend the ailing poor, those who lie in agony in their humble garrets, and cannot pay for nursing; and thus these good women spend their livesamong the wretched, installing themselves beside the sufferer's pallet inhis tiny lodging, and ministering to every want, attending alike tocooking and cleaning, and living there as servants and relatives, untileither cure or death supervenes. And it was in this wise that SisterHyacinthe, young as she was, with her milky face, and her blue eyes whichever laughed, had installed herself one day in the abode of this youngfellow, Ferrand, then a medical student, prostrated by typhoid fever, andso desperately poor that he lived in a kind of loft reached by a ladder, in the Rue du Four. And from that moment she had not stirred from hisside, but had remained with him until she cured him, with the passion ofone who lived only for others, one who when an infant had been found in achurch porch, and who had no other family than that of those whosuffered, to whom she devoted herself with all her ardently affectionatenature. And what a delightful month, what exquisite comradeship, fraughtwith the pure fraternity of suffering, had followed! When he called her"Sister, " it was really to a sister that he was speaking. And she was amother also, a mother who helped him to rise, and who put him to bed asthough he were her child, without aught springing up between them savesupreme pity, the divine, gentle compassion of charity. She ever showedherself gay, sexless, devoid of any instinct excepting that whichprompted her to assuage and to console. And he worshipped her, veneratedher, and had retained of her the most chaste and passionate ofrecollections. 

"O Sister Hyacinthe!" he murmured in delight. 

Chance alone had brought them face to face again, for Ferrand was not abeliever, and if he found himself in that train it was simply because hehad at the last moment consented to take the place of a friend who wassuddenly prevented from coming. For nearly a twelvemonth he had been ahouse-surgeon at the Hospital of La Pitie. However, this journey toLourdes, in such peculiar circumstances, greatly interested him. 

The joy of the meeting was making them forget the ailing stranger. And sothe Sister resumed: "You see, Monsieur Ferrand, it is for this man thatwe want you. At one moment we thought him dead. Ever since we passedAmboise he has been filling us with fear, and I have just sent for theHoly Oils. Do you find him so very low? Could you not revive him alittle?"

The doctor was already examining the man, and thereupon the sufferers whohad remained in the carriage became greatly interested and began to look. Marie, to whom Sister Saint-Francois had given the bowl of broth, washolding it with such an unsteady hand that Pierre had to take it fromher, and endeavour to make her drink; but she could not swallow, and sheleft the broth scarce tasted, fixing her eyes upon the man waiting to seewhat would happen like one whose own existence is at stake. 

"Tell me, " again asked Sister Hyacinthe, "how do you find him? What ishis illness?"

"What is his illness!" muttered Ferrand; "he has every illness. "

Then, drawing a little phial from his pocket, he endeavoured to introducea few drops of the contents between the sufferer's clenched teeth. Theman heaved a sigh, raised his eyelids and let them fall again; that wasall, he gave no other sign of life. 

Sister Hyacinthe, usually so calm and composed, so little accustomed todespair, became impatient. 

"But it is terrible, " said she, "and Sister Claire des Anges does notcome back! Yet I told her plainly enough where she would find FatherMassias's carriage. _Mon Dieu!_ what will become of us?"

Sister Saint-Francois, seeing that she could render no help, was nowabout to return to the cantine van. Before doing so, however, sheinquired if the man were not simply dying of hunger; for such casespresented themselves, and indeed she had only come to the compartmentwith the view of offering some of her provisions. At last, as she wentoff, she promised that she would make Sister Claire des Anges hasten herreturn should she happen to meet her; and she had not gone twenty yardswhen she turned round and waved her arm to call attention to hercolleague, who with discreet short steps was coming back alone. 

Leaning out of the window, Sister Hyacinthe kept on calling to her, "Makehaste, make haste! Well, and where is Father Massias?"

"He isn't there. "

"What! not there?"

"No. I went as fast as I could, but with all these people about it wasnot possible to get there quickly. When I reached the carriage FatherMassias had already alighted, and gone out of the station, no doubt. "

She thereupon explained, that according to what she had heard, FatherMassias and the priest of Sainte-Radegonde had some appointment together. In other years the national pilgrimage halted at Poitiers forfour-and-twenty hours, and after those who were ill had been placed inthe town hospital the others went in procession to Sainte-Radegonde. *That year, however, there was some obstacle to this course beingfollowed, so the train was going straight on to Lourdes; and FatherMassias was certainly with his friend the priest, talking with him onsome matter of importance. 

 * The church of Sainte-Radegonde, built by the saint of that name in the sixth century, is famous throughout Poitou. In the crypt between the tombs of Ste. Agnes and St. Disciole is that of Ste. Radegonde herself, but it now only contains some particles of her remains, as the greater portion was burnt by the Huguenots in 1562. On a previous occasion (1412) the tomb had been violated by Jean, Duc de Berry, who wished to remove both the saint's head and her two rings. Whilst he was making the attempt, however, the skeleton is said to have withdrawn its hand so that he might not possess himself of the rings. A greater curiosity which the church contains is a footprint on a stone slab, said to have been left by Christ when He appeared to Ste. Radegonde in her cell. This attracts pilgrims from many parts. --Trans. 

"They promised to tell him and send him here with the Holy Oils as soonas they found him, " added Sister Claire. 

However, this was quite a disaster for Sister Hyacinthe. Since Sciencewas powerless, perhaps the Holy Oils would have brought the sufferer somerelief. She had often seen that happen. 

"O Sister, Sister, how worried I am!" she said to her companion. "Do youknow, I wish you would go back and watch for Father Massias and bring himto me as soon as you see him. It would be so kind of you to do so!"

"Yes, Sister, " compliantly answered Sister Claire des Anges, and off shewent again with that grave, mysterious air of hers, wending her waythrough the crowd like a gliding shadow. 

Ferrand, meantime, was still looking at the man, sorely distressed at hisinability to please Sister Hyacinthe by reviving him. And as he made agesture expressive of his powerlessness she again raised her voiceentreatingly: "Stay with me, Monsieur Ferrand, pray stay, " she said. "Wait till Father Massias comes--I shall be a little more at ease withyou here. "

He remained and helped her to raise the man, who was slipping down uponthe seat. Then, taking a linen cloth, she wiped the poor fellow's facewhich a dense perspiration was continually covering. And the spell ofwaiting continued amid the uneasiness of the patients who had remained inthe carriage, and the curiosity of the folks who had begun to assemble onthe platform in front of the compartment. 

All at once however a girl hastily pushed the crowd aside, and, mountingon the footboard, addressed herself to Madame de Jonquiere: "What is thematter, mamma?" she said. "They are waiting for you in therefreshment-room. "

It was Raymonde de Jonquiere, who, already somewhat ripe for herfour-and-twenty years, was remarkably like her mother, being very dark, with a pronounced nose, large mouth, and full, pleasant-looking face. 

"But, my dear, you can see for yourself. I can't leave this poor woman, "replied the lady-hospitaller; and thereupon she pointed to La Grivotte, who had been attacked by a fit of coughing which shook her frightfully. 

"Oh, how annoying, mamma!" retorted Raymonde, "Madame Desagneaux andMadame Volmar were looking forward with so much pleasure to this littlelunch together. "

"Well, it can't be helped, my dear. At all events, you can begin withoutwaiting for me. Tell the ladies that I will come and join them as soon asI can. " Then, an idea occurring to her, Madame de Jonquiere added: "Waita moment, the doctor is here. I will try to get him to take charge of mypatient. Go back, I will follow you. As you can guess, I am dying ofhunger. "

Raymonde briskly returned to the refreshment-room whilst her motherbegged Ferrand to come into her compartment to see if he could dosomething to relieve La Grivotte. At Marthe's request he had alreadyexamined Brother Isidore, whose moaning never ceased; and with asorrowful gesture he had again confessed his powerlessness. However, hehastened to comply with Madame de Jonquiere's appeal, and raised theconsumptive woman to a sitting posture in the hope of thus stopping hercough, which indeed gradually ceased. And then he helped thelady-hospitaller to make her swallow a spoonful of some soothing draught. The doctor's presence in the carriage was still causing a stir among theailing ones. M. Sabathier, who was slowly eating the grapes which hiswife had been to fetch him, did not, however, question Ferrand, for heknew full well what his answer would be, and was weary, as he expressedit, of consulting all the princes of science; nevertheless he feltcomforted as it were at seeing him set that poor consumptive woman on herfeet again. And even Marie watched all that the doctor did withincreasing interest, though not daring to call him herself, certain asshe also was that he could do nothing for her. 

Meantime, the crush on the platform was increasing. Only a quarter of anhour now remained to the pilgrims. Madame Vetu, whose eyes were open butwho saw nothing, sat like an insensible being in the broad sunlight, inthe hope possibly that the scorching heat would deaden her pains; whilstup and down, in front of her, went Madame Vincent ever with the samesleep-inducing step and ever carrying her little Rose, her poor ailingbirdie, whose weight was so trifling that she scarcely felt her in herarms. Many people meantime were hastening to the water tap in order tofill their pitchers, cans, and bottles. Madame Maze, who was of refinedtastes and careful of her person, thought of going to wash her handsthere; but just as she arrived she found Elise Rouquet drinking, and sherecoiled at sight of that disease-smitten face, so terribly disfiguredand robbed of nearly all semblance of humanity. And all the otherslikewise shuddered, likewise hesitated to fill their bottles, pitchers, and cans at the tap from which she had drunk. 

A large number of pilgrims had now begun to eat whilst pacing theplatform. You could hear the rhythmical taps of the crutches carried by awoman who incessantly wended her way through the groups. On the ground, alegless cripple was painfully dragging herself about in search of nobodyknew what. Others, seated there in heaps, no longer stirred. All thesesufferers, momentarily unpacked as it were, these patients of atravelling hospital emptied for a brief half-hour, were taking the airamidst the bewilderment and agitation of the healthy passengers; and thewhole throng had a frightfully woeful, poverty-stricken appearance in thebroad noontide light. 

Pierre no longer stirred from the side of Marie, for M. De Guersaint haddisappeared, attracted by a verdant patch of landscape which could beseen at the far end of the station. And, feeling anxious about her, sinceshe had not been able to finish her broth, the young priest with asmiling air tried to tempt her palate by offering to go and buy her apeach; but she refused it; she was suffering too much, she cared fornothing. She was gazing at him with her large, woeful eyes, on the onehand impatient at this stoppage which delayed her chance of cure, and onthe other terrified at the thought of again being jolted along that hardand endless railroad. 

Just then a stout gentleman whose full beard was turning grey, and whohad a broad, fatherly kind of face, drew near and touched Pierre's arm:"Excuse me, Monsieur l'Abbe, " said he, "but is it not in this carriagethat there is a poor man dying?"

And on the priest returning an affirmative answer, the gentleman becamequite affable and familiar. 

"My name is Vigneron, " he said; "I am the head clerk at the Ministry ofFinances, and applied for leave in order that I might help my wife totake our son Gustave to Lourdes. The dear lad places all his hope in theBlessed Virgin, to whom we pray morning and evening on his behalf. We arein a second-class compartment of the carriage just in front of yours. "

Then, turning round, he summoned his party with a wave of the hand. "Come, come!" said he, "it is here. The unfortunate man is indeed in thelast throes. "

Madame Vigneron was a little woman with the correct bearing of arespectable _bourgeoise_, but her long, livid face denoted impoverishedblood, terrible evidence of which was furnished by her son Gustave. Thelatter, who was fifteen years of age, looked scarcely ten. Twisted out ofshape, he was a mere skeleton, with his right leg so wasted, so reduced, that he had to walk with a crutch. He had a small, thin face, somewhatawry, in which one saw little excepting his eyes, clear eyes, sparklingwith intelligence, sharpened as it were by suffering, and doubtless wellable to dive into the human soul. 

An old puffy-faced lady followed the others, dragging her legs along withdifficulty; and M. Vigneron, remembering that he had forgotten her, stepped back towards Pierre so that he might complete the introduction. "That lady, " said he, "is Madame Chaise, my wife's eldest sister. Shealso wished to accompany Gustave, whom she is very fond of. " And then, leaning forward, he added in a whisper, with a confidential air: "She isthe widow of Chaise, the silk merchant, you know, who left such animmense fortune. She is suffering from a heart complaint which causes hermuch anxiety. "

The whole family, grouped together, then gazed with lively curiosity atwhat was taking place in the railway carriage. People were incessantlyflocking to the spot; and so that the lad might be the better able tosee, his father took him up in his arms for a moment whilst his aunt heldthe crutch, and his mother on her side raised herself on tip-toe. 

The scene in the carriage was still the same; the strange man was stillstiffly seated in his corner, his head resting against the hard wood. Hewas livid, his eyes were closed, and his mouth was twisted by suffering;and every now and then Sister Hyacinthe with her linen cloth wiped awaythe cold sweat which was constantly covering his face. She no longerspoke, no longer evinced any impatience, but had recovered her serenityand relied on Heaven. From time to time she would simply glance towardsthe platform to see if Father Massias were coming. 

"Look at him, Gustave, " said M. Vigneron to his son; "he must beconsumptive. "

The lad, whom scrofula was eating away, whose hip was attacked by anabscess, and in whom there were already signs of necrosis of thevertebrae, seemed to take a passionate interest in the agony he thusbeheld. It did not frighten him, he smiled at it with a smile of infinitesadness. 

"Oh! how dreadful!" muttered Madame Chaise, who, living in continualterror of a sudden attack which would carry her off, turned pale with thefear of death. 

"Ah! well, " replied M. Vigneron, philosophically, "it will come to eachof us in turn. We are all mortal. "

Thereupon, a painful, mocking expression came over Gustave's smile, asthough he had heard other words than those--perchance an unconsciouswish, the hope that the old aunt might die before he himself did, that hewould inherit the promised half-million of francs, and then not longencumber his family. 

"Put the boy down now, " said Madame Vigneron to her husband. "You aretiring him, holding him by the legs like that. "

Then both she and Madame Chaise bestirred themselves in order that thelad might not be shaken. The poor darling was so much in need of care andattention. At each moment they feared that they might lose him. Even hisfather was of opinion that they had better put him in the train again atonce. And as the two women went off with the child, the old gentlemanonce more turned towards Pierre, and with evident emotion exclaimed: "Ah!Monsieur l'Abbe, if God should take him from us, the light of our lifewould be extinguished--I don't speak of his aunt's fortune, which wouldgo to other nephews. But it would be unnatural, would it not, that heshould go off before her, especially as she is so ill? However, we areall in the hands of Providence, and place our reliance in the BlessedVirgin, who will assuredly perform a miracle. "

Just then Madame de Jonquiere, having been reassured by Doctor Ferrand, was able to leave La Grivotte. Before going off, however, she took careto say to Pierre: "I am dying of hunger and am going to therefreshment-room for a moment. But if my patient should begin coughingagain, pray come and fetch me. "

When, after great difficulty, she had managed to cross the platform andreach the refreshment-room, she found herself in the midst of anotherscramble. The better-circumstanced pilgrims had taken the tables byassault, and a great many priests were to be seen hastily lunching amidstall the clatter of knives, forks, and crockery. The three or four waiterswere not able to attend to all the requirements, especially as they werehampered in their movements by the crowd purchasing fruit, bread, andcold meat at the counter. It was at a little table at the far end of theroom that Raymonde was lunching with Madame Desagneaux and Madame Volmar. 

"Ah! here you are at last, mamma!" the girl exclaimed, as Madame deJonquiere approached. "I was just going back to fetch you. You certainlyought to be allowed time to eat!"

She was laughing, with a very animated expression on her face, quitedelighted as she was with the adventures of the journey and thisindifferent scrambling meal. "There, " said she, "I have kept you sometrout with green sauce, and there's a cutlet also waiting for you. Wehave already got to the artichokes. "

Then everything became charming. The gaiety prevailing in that littlecorner rejoiced the sight. 

Young Madame Desagneaux was particularly adorable. A delicate blonde, with wild, wavy, yellow hair, a round, dimpled, milky face, a gay, laughing disposition, and a remarkably good heart, she had made a richmarriage, and for three years past had been wont to leave her husband atTrouville in the fine August weather, in order to accompany the nationalpilgrimage as a lady-hospitaller. This was her great passion, an accessof quivering pity, a longing desire to place herself unreservedly at thedisposal of the sick for five days, a real debauch of devotion from whichshe returned tired to death but full of intense delight. Her only regretwas that she as yet had no children, and with comical passion, sheoccasionally expressed a regret that she had missed her true vocation, that of a sister of charity. 

"Ah! my dear, " she hastily said to Raymonde, "don't pity your mother forbeing so much taken up with her patients. She, at all events, hassomething to occupy her. " And addressing herself to Madame de Jonquiere, she added: "If you only knew how long we find the time in our finefirst-class carriage. We cannot even occupy ourselves with a littleneedlework, as it is forbidden. I asked for a place with the patients, but all were already distributed, so that my only resource will be to tryto sleep tonight. "

She began to laugh, and then resumed: "Yes, Madame Volmar, we will try tosleep, won't we, since talking seems to tire you?" Madame Volmar, wholooked over thirty, was very dark, with a long face and delicate butdrawn features. Her magnificent eyes shone out like brasiers, thoughevery now and then a cloud seemed to veil and extinguish them. At thefirst glance she did not appear beautiful, but as you gazed at her shebecame more and more perturbing, till she conquered you and inspired youwith passionate admiration. It should be said though that she shrank fromall self-assertion, comporting herself with much modesty, ever keeping inthe background, striving to hide her lustre, invariably clad in black andunadorned by a single jewel, although she was the wife of a Parisiandiamond-merchant. 

"Oh! for my part, " she murmured, "as long as I am not hustled too much Iam well pleased. "

She had been to Lourdes as an auxiliary lady-helper already on twooccasions, though but little had been seen of her there--at the hospitalof Our Lady of Dolours--as, on arriving, she had been overcome by suchgreat fatigue that she had been forced, she said, to keep her room. 

However, Madame de Jonquiere, who managed the ward, treated her withgood-natured tolerance. "Ah! my poor friends, " said she, "there will beplenty of time for you to exert yourselves. Get to sleep if you can, andyour turn will come when I can no longer keep up. " Then addressing herdaughter, she resumed: "And you would do well, darling, not to exciteyourself too much if you wish to keep your head clear. "

Raymonde smiled and gave her mother a reproachful glance: "Mamma, mamma, why do you say that? Am I not sensible?" she asked. 

Doubtless she was not boasting, for, despite her youthful, thoughtlessair, the air of one who simply feels happy in living, there appeared inher grey eyes an expression of firm resolution, a resolution to shape herlife for herself. 

"It is true, " the mother confessed with a little confusion, "this littlegirl is at times more sensible than I am myself. Come, pass me thecutlet--it is welcome, I assure you. Lord! how hungry I was!"

The meal continued, enlivened by the constant laughter of MadameDesagneaux and Raymonde. The latter was very animated, and her face, which was already growing somewhat yellow through long pining for asuitor, again assumed the rosy bloom of twenty. They had to eat veryfast, for only ten minutes now remained to them. On all sides one heardthe growing tumult of customers who feared that they would not have timeto take their coffee. 

All at once, however, Pierre made his appearance; a fit of stifling hadagain come over La Grivotte; and Madame de Jonquiere hastily finished herartichoke and returned to her compartment, after kissing her daughter, who wished her "good-night" in a facetious way. The priest, however, hadmade a movement of surprise on perceiving Madame Volmar with the redcross of the lady-hospitallers on her black bodice. He knew her, for hestill called at long intervals on old Madame Volmar, thediamond-merchant's mother, who had been one of his own mother's friends. She was the most terrible woman in the world, religious beyond allreason, so harsh and stern, moreover, as to close the very windowshutters in order to prevent her daughter-in-law from looking into thestreet. And he knew the young woman's story, how she had been imprisonedon the very morrow of her marriage, shut up between her mother-in-law, who tyrannised over her, and her husband, a repulsively ugly monster whowent so far as to beat her, mad as he was with jealousy, although hehimself kept mistresses. The unhappy woman was not allowed out of thehouse excepting it were to go to mass. And one day, at La Trinite, Pierrehad surprised her secret, on seeing her behind the church exchanging afew hasty words with a well-groomed, distinguished-looking man. 

The priest's sudden appearance in the refreshment-room had somewhatdisconcerted Madame Volmar. 

"What an unexpected meeting, Monsieur l'Abbe!" she said, offering him herlong, warm hand. "What a long time it is since I last saw you!" Andthereupon she explained that this was the third year she had gone toLourdes, her mother-in-law having required her to join the Association ofOur Lady of Salvation. "It is surprising that you did not see her at thestation when we started, " she added. "She sees me into the train andcomes to meet me on my return. "

This was said in an apparently simple way, but with such a subtle touchof irony that Pierre fancied he could guess the truth. He knew that shereally had no religious principles at all, and that she merely followedthe rites and ceremonies of the Church in order that she might now andagain obtain an hour's freedom; and all at once he intuitively realisedthat someone must be waiting for her yonder, that it was for the purposeof meeting him that she was thus hastening to Lourdes with her shrinkingyet ardent air and flaming eyes, which she so prudently shrouded with aveil of lifeless indifference. 

"For my part, " he answered, "I am accompanying a friend of my childhood, a poor girl who is very ill indeed. I must ask your help for her; youshall nurse her. "

Thereupon she faintly blushed, and he no longer doubted the truth of hissurmise. However, Raymonde was just then settling the bill with the easyassurance of a girl who is expert in figures; and immediately afterwardsMadame Desagneaux led Madame Volmar away. The waiters were now growingmore distracted and the tables were fast being vacated; for, on hearing abell ring, everybody had begun to rush towards the door. 

Pierre, on his side, was hastening back to his carriage, when he wasstopped by an old priest. "Ah! Monsieur le Cure, " he said, "I saw youjust before we started, but I was unable to get near enough to shakehands with you. "

Thereupon he offered his hand to his brother ecclesiastic, who waslooking and smiling at him in a kindly way. The Abbe Judaine was theparish priest of Saligny, a little village in the department of the Oise. Tall and sturdy, he had a broad pink face, around which clustered a massof white, curly hair, and it could be divined by his appearance that hewas a worthy man whom neither the flesh nor the spirit had evertormented. He believed indeed firmly and absolutely, with a tranquilgodliness, never having known a struggle, endowed as he was with theready faith of a child who is unacquainted with human passions. And eversince the Virgin at Lourdes had cured him of a disease of the eyes, by afamous miracle which folks still talked about, his belief had become yetmore absolute and tender, as though impregnated with divine gratitude. 

"I am pleased that you are with us, my friend, " he gently said; "forthere is much in these pilgrimages for young priests to profit by. I amtold that some of them at times experience a feeling of rebellion. Well, you will see all these poor people praying, --it is a sight which willmake you weep. How can one do otherwise than place oneself in God'shands, on seeing so much suffering cured or consoled?"

The old priest himself was accompanying a patient; and he pointed to afirst-class compartment, at the door of which hung a placard bearing theinscription: "M. L'Abbe Judaine, Reserved. " Then lowering his voice, hesaid: "It is Madame Dieulafay, you know, the great banker's wife. Theirchateau, a royal domain, is in my parish, and when they learned that theBlessed Virgin had vouchsafed me such an undeserved favour, they beggedme to intercede for their poor sufferer. I have already said severalmasses, and most sincerely pray for her. There, you see her yonder on theground. She insisted on being taken out of the carriage, in spite of allthe trouble which one will have to place her in it again. "

On a shady part of the platform, in a kind of long box, there was, as theold priest said, a woman whose beautiful, perfectly oval face, lighted upby splendid eyes, denoted no greater age than six-and-twenty. She wassuffering from a frightful disease. The disappearance from her system ofthe calcareous salts had led to a softening of the osseous framework, theslow destruction of her bones. Three years previously, after the adventof a stillborn child, she had felt vague pains in the spinal column. Andthen, little by little, her bones had rarefied and lost shape, thevertebrae had sunk, the bones of the pelvis had flattened, and those ofthe arms and legs had contracted. Thus shrunken, melting away as it were, she had become a mere human remnant, a nameless, fluid thing, which couldnot be set erect, but had to be carried hither and thither with infinitecare, for fear lest she should vanish between one's fingers. Her face, amotionless face, on which sat a stupefied imbecile expression, stillretained its beauty of outline, and yet it was impossible to gaze at thiswretched shred of a woman without feeling a heart-pang, the keener onaccount of all the luxury surrounding her; for not only was the box inwhich she lay lined with blue quilted silk, but she was covered withvaluable lace, and a cap of rare valenciennes was set upon her head, herwealth thus being proclaimed, displayed, in the midst of her awful agony. 

"Ah! how pitiable it is, " resumed the Abbe Judaine in an undertone. "Tothink that she is so young, so pretty, possessed of millions of money!And if you knew how dearly loved she was, with what adoration she isstill surrounded. That tall gentleman near her is her husband, thatelegantly dressed lady is her sister, Madame Jousseur. "

Pierre remembered having often noticed in the newspapers the name ofMadame Jousseur, wife of a diplomatist, and a conspicuous member of thehigher spheres of Catholic society in Paris. People had even circulated astory of some great passion which she had fought against and vanquished. She also was very prettily dressed, with marvellously tastefulsimplicity, and she ministered to the wants of her sorry sister with anair of perfect devotion. As for the unhappy woman's husband, who at theage of five-and-thirty had inherited his father's colossal business, hewas a clear-complexioned, well-groomed, handsome man, clad in a closelybuttoned frock-coat. His eyes, however, were full of tears, for he adoredhis wife, and had left his business in order to take her to Lourdes, placing his last hope in this appeal to the mercy of Heaven. 

Ever since the morning, Pierre had beheld many frightful sufferings inthat woeful white train. But none had so distressed his soul as did thatwretched female skeleton, slowly liquefying in the midst of its lace andits millions. "The unhappy woman!" he murmured with a shudder. 

The Abbe Judaine, however, made a gesture of serene hope. "The BlessedVirgin will cure her, " said he; "I have prayed to her so much. "

Just then a bell again pealed, and this time it was really the signal forstarting. Only two minutes remained. There was a last rush, and folkshurried back towards the train carrying eatables wrapped in paper, andbottles and cans which they had filled with water. Several of them quitelost their heads, and in their inability to find their carriages, randistractedly from one to the other end of the train; whilst some of theinfirm ones dragged themselves about amidst the precipitate tapping ofcrutches, and others, only able to walk with difficulty, strove to hastentheir steps whilst leaning on the arms of some of the lady-hospitallers. It was only with infinite difficulty that four men managed to replaceMadame Dieulafay in her first-class compartment. The Vignerons, who werecontent with second-class accommodation, had already reinstalledthemselves in their quarters amidst an extraordinary heap of baskets, boxes, and valises which scarcely allowed little Gustave enough room tostretch his poor puny limbs--the limbs as it were of a deformed insect. And then all the women appeared again: Madame Maze gliding along insilence; Madame Vincent raising her dear little girl in her outstretchedarms and dreading lest she should hear her cry out; Madame Vetu, whom ithad been necessary to push into the train, after rousing her from herstupefying torment; and Elise Rouquet, who was quite drenched through herobstinacy in endeavouring to drink from the tap, and was still wiping hermonstrous face. Whilst each returned to her place and the carriage filledonce more, Marie listened to her father, who had come back delighted withhis stroll to a pointsman's little house beyond the station, whence areally pleasant stretch of landscape could be discerned. 

"Shall we lay you down again at once?" asked Pierre, sorely distressed bythe pained expression on Marie's face. 

"Oh no, no, by-and-by!" she replied. "I shall have plenty of time to hearthose wheels roaring in my head as though they were grinding my bones. "

Then, as Ferrand seemed on the point of returning to the cantine van, Sister Hyacinthe begged him to take another look at the strange manbefore he went off. She was still waiting for Father Massias, astonishedat the inexplicable delay in his arrival, but not yet without hope, asSister Claire des Anges had not returned. 

"Pray, Monsieur Ferrand, " said she, "tell me if this unfortunate man isin any immediate danger. "

The young doctor again looked at the sufferer, felt him, and listened tohis breathing. Then with a gesture of discouragement he answered in a lowvoice, "I feel convinced that you will not get him to Lourdes alive. "

Every head was still anxiously stretched forward. If they had only knownthe man's name, the place he had come from, who he was! But it wasimpossible to extract a word from this unhappy stranger, who was about todie there, in that carriage, without anybody being able to give his facea name!

It suddenly occurred to Sister Hyacinthe to have him searched. Under thecircumstances there could certainly be no harm in such a course. "Feel inhis pockets, Monsieur Ferrand, " she said. 

The doctor thereupon searched the man in a gentle, cautious way, but theonly things that he found in his pockets were a chaplet, a knife, andthree sous. And nothing more was ever learnt of the man. 

At that moment, however, a voice announced that Sister Claire des Angeswas at last coming back with Father Massias. All this while the latterhad simply been chatting with the priest of Sainte-Radegonde in one ofthe waiting-rooms. Keen emotion attended his arrival; for a moment allseemed saved. But the train was about to start, the porters were alreadyclosing the carriage doors, and it was necessary that extreme unctionshould be administered in all haste in order to avoid too long a delay. 

"This way, reverend Father!" exclaimed Sister Hyacinthe; "yes, yes, praycome in; our unfortunate patient is here. "

Father Massias, who was five years older than Pierre, whosefellow-student however he had been at the seminary, had a tall, sparefigure with an ascetic countenance, framed round with a light-colouredbeard and vividly lighted up by burning eyes, He was neither the priestharassed by doubt, nor the priest with childlike faith, but an apostlecarried away by his passion, ever ready to fight and vanquish for thepure glory of the Blessed Virgin. In his black cloak with its large hood, and his broad-brimmed flossy hat, he shone resplendently with theperpetual ardour of battle. 

He immediately took from his pocket the silver case containing the HolyOils, and the ceremony began whilst the last carriage doors were beingslammed and belated pilgrims were rushing back to the train; thestation-master, meantime, anxiously glancing at the clock, and realisingthat it would be necessary for him to grant a few minutes' grace. 

"_Credo in unum Deum_, " hastily murmured the Father. 

"_Amen_, " replied Sister Hyacinthe and the other occupants of thecarriage. 

Those who had been able to do so, had knelt upon the seats, whilst theothers joined their hands, or repeatedly made the sign of the cross; andwhen the murmured prayers were followed by the Litanies of the ritual, every voice rose, an ardent desire for the remission of the man's sinsand for his physical and spiritual cure winging its flight heavenwardwith each successive _Kyrie eleison_. Might his whole life, of which theyknew nought, be forgiven him; might he enter, stranger though he was, intriumph into the Kingdom of God!

"_Christe, exaudi nos_. "

"_Ora pro nobis, sancta Dei Genitrix_. "

Father Massias had pulled out the silver needle from which hung a drop ofHoly Oil. In the midst of such a scramble, with the whole trainwaiting--many people now thrusting their heads out of the carriagewindows in surprise at the delay in starting--he could not think offollowing the usual practice, of anointing in turn all the organs of thesenses, those portals of the soul which give admittance to evil. 

He must content himself, as the rules authorised him to do in pressingcases, with one anointment; and this he made upon the man's lips, thoselivid parted lips from between which only a faint breath escaped, whilstthe rest of his face, with its lowered eyelids, already seemedindistinct, again merged into the dust of the earth. 

"_Per istam sanctam unctionem_, " said the Father, "_et suam piissimammisericordiam indulgeat tibi Dominus quidquid per visum, auditum, odoratum, gustum, tactum, deliquisti_. "*

 * Through this holy unction and His most tender mercy may the Lord pardon thee whatever sins thou hast committed by thy sight, hearing, etc. 

The remainder of the ceremony was lost amid the hurry and scramble of thedeparture. Father Massias scarcely had time to wipe off the oil with thelittle piece of cotton-wool which Sister Hyacinthe held in readiness, before he had to leave the compartment and get into his own as fast aspossible, setting the case containing the Holy Oils in order as he didso, whilst the pilgrims finished repeating the final prayer. 

"We cannot wait any longer! It is impossible!" repeated thestation-master as he bustled about. "Come, come, make haste everybody!"

At last then they were about to resume their journey. Everybody sat down, returned to his or her corner again. Madame de Jonquiere, however, hadchanged her place, in order to be nearer La Grivotte, whose conditionstill worried her, and she was now seated in front of M. Sabathier, whoremained waiting with silent resignation. Moreover, Sister Hyacinthe hadnot returned to her compartment, having decided to remain near theunknown man so that she might watch over him and help him. By followingthis course, too, she was able to minister to Brother Isidore, whosesufferings his sister Marthe was at a loss to assuage. And Marie, turningpale, felt the jolting of the train in her ailing flesh, even before ithad resumed its journey under the heavy sun, rolling onward once morewith its load of sufferers stifling in the pestilential atmosphere of theover-heated carriages. 

At last a loud whistle resounded, the engine puffed, and Sister Hyacintherose up to say: The _Magnificat_, my children!

IV. MIRACLES

JUST as the train was beginning to move, the door of the compartment inwhich Pierre and Marie found themselves was opened and a porter pushed agirl of fourteen inside, saying: "There's a seat here--make haste!"

The others were already pulling long faces and were about to protest, when Sister Hyacinthe exclaimed: "What, is it you, Sophie? So you aregoing back to see the Blessed Virgin who cured you last year!"

And at the same time Madame de Jonquiere remarked: "Ah! Sophie, my littlefriend, I am very pleased to see that you are grateful. "

"Why, yes, Sister; why, yes, madame, " answered the girl, in a pretty way. 

The carriage door had already been closed again, so that it was necessarythat they should accept the presence of this new pilgrim who had fallenfrom heaven as it were at the very moment when the train, which she hadalmost missed, was starting off again. She was a slender damsel and wouldnot take up much room. Moreover these ladies knew her, and all thepatients had turned their eyes upon her on hearing that the BlessedVirgin had been pleased to cure her. They had now got beyond the station, the engine was still puffing, whilst the wheels increased their speed, and Sister Hyacinthe, clapping her hands, repeated: "Come, come, mychildren, the _Magnificat_. "

Whilst the joyful chant arose amidst the jolting of the train, Pierregazed at Sophie. She was evidently a young peasant girl, the daughter ofsome poor husbandman of the vicinity of Poitiers, petted by her parents, treated in fact like a young lady since she had become the subject of amiracle, one of the elect, whom the priests of the district flocked tosee. She wore a straw hat with pink ribbons, and a grey woollen dresstrimmed with a flounce. Her round face although not pretty was a verypleasant one, with a beautifully fresh complexion and clear, intelligenteyes which lent her a smiling, modest air. 

When the _Magnificat_ had been sung, Pierre was unable to resist hisdesire to question Sophie. A child of her age, with so candid an air, soutterly unlike a liar, greatly interested him. 

"And so you nearly missed the train, my child?" he said. 

"I should have been much ashamed if I had, Monsieur l'Abbe, " she replied. "I had been at the station since twelve o'clock. And all at once I sawhis reverence, the priest of Sainte-Radegonde, who knows me well and whocalled me to him, to kiss me and tell me that it was very good of me togo back to Lourdes. But it seems the train was starting and I only justhad time to run on to the platform. Oh! I ran so fast!"

She paused, laughing, still slightly out of breath, but already repentingthat she had been so giddy. 

"And what is your name, my child?" asked Pierre. 

"Sophie Couteau, Monsieur l'Abbe. "

"You do not belong to the town of Poitiers?"

"Oh no! certainly not. We belong to Vivonne, which is seven kilometresaway. My father and mother have a little land there, and things would notbe so bad if there were not eight children at home--I am thefifth, --fortunately the four older ones are beginning to work. "

"And you, my child, what do you do?"

"I, Monsieur l'Abbe! Oh! I am no great help. Since last year, when I camehome cured, I have not been left quiet a single day, for, as you canunderstand, so many people have come to see me, and then too I have beentaken to Monseigneur's, * and to the convents and all manner of otherplaces. And before all that I was a long time ill. I could not walkwithout a stick, and each step I took made me cry out, so dreadfully didmy foot hurt me. "

 * The Bishop's residence. 

"So it was of some injury to the foot that the Blessed Virgin cured you?"

Sophie did not have time to reply, for Sister Hyacinthe, who waslistening, intervened: "Of caries of the bones of the left heel, whichhad been going on for three years, " said she. "The foot was swollen andquite deformed, and there were fistulas giving egress to continualsuppuration. "

On hearing this, all the sufferers in the carriage became intenselyinterested. They no longer took their eyes off this little girl on whom amiracle had been performed, but scanned her from head to foot as thoughseeking for some sign of the prodigy. Those who were able to stand roseup in order that they might the better see her, and the others, theinfirm ones, stretched on their mattresses, strove to raise themselvesand turn their heads. Amidst the suffering which had again come upon themon leaving Poitiers, the terror which filled them at the thought thatthey must continue rolling onward for another fifteen hours, the suddenadvent of this child, favoured by Heaven, was like a divine relief, a rayof hope whence they would derive sufficient strength to accomplish theremainder of their terrible journey. The moaning had abated somewhatalready, and every face was turned towards the girl with an ardent desireto believe. 

This was especially the case with Marie, who, already reviving, joinedher trembling hands, and in a gentle supplicating voice said to Pierre, "Question her, pray question her, ask her to tell us everything--cured, OGod! cured of such a terrible complaint!"

Madame de Jonquiere, who was quite affected, had leant over the partitionto kiss the girl. "Certainly, " said she, "our little friend will tell youall about it. Won't you, my darling? You will tell us what the BlessedVirgin did for you?"

"Oh, certainly! madame-as much as you like, " answered Sophie with hersmiling, modest air, her eyes gleaming with intelligence. Indeed, shewished to begin at once, and raised her right hand with a pretty gesture, as a sign to everybody to be attentive. Plainly enough, she had alreadyacquired the habit of speaking in public. 

She could not be seen, however, from some parts of the carriage, and anidea came to Sister Hyacinthe, who said: "Get up on the seat, Sophie, andspeak loudly, on account of the noise which the train makes. "

This amused the girl, and before beginning she needed time to becomeserious again. "Well, it was like this, " said she; "my foot was pastcure, I couldn't even go to church any more, and it had to be keptbandaged, because there was always a lot of nasty matter coming from it. Monsieur Rivoire, the doctor, who had made a cut in it, so as to seeinside it, said that he should be obliged to take out a piece of thebone; and that, sure enough, would have made me lame for life. But when Igot to Lourdes and had prayed a great deal to the Blessed Virgin, I wentto dip my foot in the water, wishing so much that I might be cured that Idid not even take the time to pull the bandage off. And everythingremained in the water, there was no longer anything the matter with myfoot when I took it out. "

A murmur of mingled surprise, wonder, and desire arose and spread amongthose who heard this marvellous tale, so sweet and soothing to all whowere in despair. But the little one had not yet finished. She had simplypaused. And now, making a fresh gesture, holding her arms somewhat apart, she concluded: "When I got back to Vivonne and Monsieur Rivoire saw myfoot again, he said: 'Whether it be God or the Devil who has cured thischild, it is all the same to me; but in all truth she _is_ cured. '"

This time a burst of laughter rang out. The girl spoke in too recitativea way, having repeated her story so many times already that she knew itby heart. The doctor's remark was sure to produce an effect, and sheherself laughed at it in advance, certain as she was that the otherswould laugh also. However, she still retained her candid, touching air. 

But she had evidently forgotten some particular, for Sister Hyacinthe, aglance from whom had foreshadowed the doctor's jest, now softly promptedher "And what was it you said to Madame la Comtesse, the superintendentof your ward, Sophie?"

"Ah! yes. I hadn't brought many bandages for my foot with me, and I saidto her, 'It was very kind of the Blessed Virgin to cure me the first day, as I should have run out of linen on the morrow. '"

This provoked a fresh outburst of delight. They all thought her so nice, to have been cured like that! And in reply to a question from Madame deJonquiere, she also had to tell the story of her boots, a pair ofbeautiful new boots which Madame la Comtesse had given her, and in whichshe had run, jumped, and danced about, full of childish delight. Boots!think of it, she who for three years had not even been able to wear aslipper. 

Pierre, who had become grave, waxing pale with the secret uneasinesswhich was penetrating him, continued to look at her. And he also askedher other questions. She was certainly not lying, and he merely suspecteda slow distortion of the actual truth, an easily explained embellishmentof the real facts amidst all the joy she felt at being cured and becomingan important little personage. Who now knew if the cicatrisation of herinjuries, effected, so it was asserted, completely, instantaneously, in afew seconds, had not in reality been the work of days? Where were thewitnesses?

Just then Madame de Jonquiere began to relate that she had been at thehospital at the time referred to. "Sophie was not in my ward, " said she, "but I had met her walking lame that very morning--"

Pierre hastily interrupted the lady-hospitaller. "Ah! you saw her footbefore and after the immersion?"

"No, no! I don't think that anybody was able to see it, for it was boundround with bandages. She told you that the bandages had fallen into thepiscina. " And, turning towards the child, Madame de Jonquiere added, "Butshe will show you her foot--won't you, Sophie? Undo your shoe. "

The girl took off her shoe, and pulled down her stocking, with apromptness and ease of manner which showed how thoroughly accustomed shehad become to it all. And she not only stretched out her foot, which wasvery clean and very white, carefully tended indeed, with well-cut, pinknails, but complacently turned it so that the young priest might examineit at his ease. Just below the ankle there was a long scar, whose whityseam, plainly defined, testified to the gravity of the complaint fromwhich the girl had suffered. 

"Oh! take hold of the heel, Monsieur l'Abbe, " said she. "Press it as hardas you like. I no longer feel any pain at all. "

Pierre made a gesture from which it might have been thought that he wasdelighted with the power exercised by the Blessed Virgin. But he wasstill tortured by doubt. What unknown force had acted in this case? Orrather what faulty medical diagnosis, what assemblage of errors andexaggerations, had ended in this fine tale?

All the patients, however, wished to see the miraculous foot, thatoutward and visible sign of the divine cure which each of them was goingin search of. And it was Marie, sitting up in her box, and alreadyfeeling less pain, who touched it first. Then Madame Maze, quite rousedfrom her melancholy, passed it on to Madame Vincent, who would havekissed it for the hope which it restored to her. M. Sabathier hadlistened to all the explanations with a beatific air; Madame Vetu, LaGrivotte, and even Brother Isidore opened their eyes, and evinced signsof interest; whilst the face of Elise Rouquet had assumed anextraordinary expression, transfigured by faith, almost beatified. If asore had thus disappeared, might not her own sore close and disappear, her face retaining no trace of it save a slight scar, and again becomingsuch a face as other people had? Sophie, who was still standing, had tohold on to one of the iron rails, and place her foot on the partition, now on the right, now on the left. And she did not weary of it all, butfelt exceedingly happy and proud at the many exclamations which wereraised, the quivering admiration and religious respect which werebestowed on that little piece of her person, that little foot which hadnow, so to say, become sacred. 

"One must possess great faith, no doubt, " said Marie, thinking aloud. "One must have a pure unspotted soul. " And, addressing herself to M. DeGuersaint, she added: "Father, I feel that I should get well if I wereten years old, if I had the unspotted soul of a little girl. "

"But you are ten years old, my darling! Is it not so, Pierre? A littlegirl of ten years old could not have a more spotless soul. "

Possessed of a mind prone to chimeras, M. De Guersaint was fond ofhearing tales of miracles. As for the young priest, profoundly affectedby the ardent purity which the young girl evinced, he no longer sought todiscuss the question, but let her surrender herself to the consolingillusions which Sophie's tale had wafted through the carriage. 

The temperature had become yet more oppressive since their departure fromPoitiers, a storm was rising in the coppery sky, and it seemed as thoughthe train were rushing through a furnace. The villages passed, mournfuland solitary under the burning sun. At Couhe-Verac they had again saidtheir chaplets, and sung another canticle. At present, however, there wassome slight abatement of the religious exercises. Sister Hyacinthe, whohad not yet been able to lunch, ventured to eat a roll and some fruit inall haste, whilst still ministering to the strange man whose faint, painful breathing seemed to have become more regular. And it was only onpassing Ruffec at three o'clock that they said the vespers of the BlessedVirgin. 

"_Ora pro nobis, sancta Dei Genitrix_. "

"_Ut digni efficiamur promissionibus Christi_. "*

 * "Pray for us, O holy Mother of God, That we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ. "

As they were finishing, M. Sabathier, who had watched little Sophie whileshe put on her shoe and stocking, turned towards M. De Guersaint. 

"This child's case is interesting, no doubt, " he remarked. "But it is amere nothing, monsieur, for there have been far more marvellous curesthan that. Do you know the story of Pierre de Rudder, a Belgianworking-man?"

Everybody had again begun to listen. 

"This man, " continued M. Sabathier, "had his leg broken by the fall of atree. Eight years afterwards the two fragments of the bone had not yetjoined together again--the two ends could be seen in the depths of a sorewhich was continually suppurating; and the leg hung down quite limp, swaying in all directions. Well, it was sufficient for this man to drinka glassful of the miraculous water, and his leg was made whole again. Hewas able to walk without crutches, and the doctor said to him: 'Your legis like that of a new-born child. ' Yes, indeed, a perfectly new leg. "

Nobody spoke, but the listeners exchanged glances of ecstasy. 

"And, by the way, " resumed M. Sabathier, "it is like the story of LouisBouriette, a quarryman, one of the first of the Lourdes miracles. Do youknow it? Bouriette had been injured by an explosion during some blastingoperations. The sight of his right eye was altogether destroyed, and hewas even threatened with the loss of the left one. Well, one day he senthis daughter to fetch a bottleful of the muddy water of the source, whichthen scarcely bubbled up to the surface. He washed his eye with thismuddy liquid, and prayed fervently. And, all at once, he raised a cry, for he could see, monsieur, see as well as you and I. The doctor who wasattending him drew up a detailed narrative of the case, and there cannotbe the slightest doubt about its truth. "

"It is marvellous, " murmured M. De Guersaint in his delight. 

"Would you like another example, monsieur? I can give you a famous one, that of Francois Macary, the carpenter of Lavaur. During eighteen yearshe had suffered from a deep varicose ulcer, with considerable enlargementof the tissues in the mesial part of the left leg. He had reached such apoint that he could no longer move, and science decreed that he wouldforever remain infirm. Well, one evening he shuts himself up with abottle of Lourdes water. He takes off his bandages, washes both his legs, and drinks what little water then remains in the bottle. Then he goes tobed and falls asleep; and when he awakes, he feels his legs and looks atthem. There is nothing left; the varicose enlargement, the ulcers, haveall disappeared. The skin of his knee, monsieur, had become as smooth, asfresh as it had been when he was twenty. "

This time there was an explosion of surprise and admiration. The patientsand the pilgrims were entering into the enchanted land of miracles, whereimpossibilities are accomplished at each bend of the pathways, where onemarches on at ease from prodigy to prodigy. And each had his or her storyto tell, burning with a desire to contribute a fresh proof, to fortifyfaith and hope by yet another example. 

That silent creature, Madame Maze, was so transported that she spoke thefirst. "I have a friend, " said she, "who knew the Widow Rizan, that ladywhose cure also created so great a stir. For four-and-twenty years herleft side had been entirely paralysed. Her stomach was unable to retainany solid food, and she had become an inert bag of bones which had to beturned over in bed, The friction of the sheets, too, had ended by rubbingher skin away in parts. Well, she was so low one evening that the doctorannounced that she would die during the night. An hour later, however, she emerged from her torpor and asked her daughter in a faint voice to goand fetch her a glass of Lourdes water from a neighbour's. But she wasonly able to obtain this glass of water on the following morning; and shecried out to her daughter: 'Oh! it is life that I am drinking--rub myface with it, rub my arm and my leg, rub my whole body with it!' And whenher daughter obeyed her, she gradually saw the huge swelling subside, andthe paralysed, tumefied limbs recover their natural suppleness andappearance. Nor was that all, for Madame Rizan cried out that she wascured and felt hungry, and wanted bread and meat--she who had eaten nonefor four-and-twenty years! And she got out of bed and dressed herself, whilst her daughter, who was so overpowered that the neighbours thoughtshe had become an orphan, replied to them: 'No, no, mamma isn't dead, shehas come to life again!'"

This narrative had brought tears to Madame Vincent's eyes. Ah! if she hadonly been able to see her little Rose recover like that, eat with a goodappetite, and run about again! At the same time, another case, which shehad been told of in Paris and which had greatly influenced her indeciding to take her ailing child to Lourdes, returned to her memory. 

"And I, too, " said she, "know the story of a girl who was paralysed. Hername was Lucie Druon, and she was an inmate of an orphan asylum. She wasquite young and could not even kneel down. Her limbs were bent likehoops. Her right leg, the shorter of the two, had ended by becomingtwisted round the left one; and when any of the other girls carried herabout you saw her feet hanging down quite limp, like dead ones. Pleasenotice that she did not even go to Lourdes. She simply performed anovena; but she fasted during the nine days, and her desire to be curedwas so great that she spent her nights in prayer. At last, on the ninthday, whilst she was drinking a little Lourdes water, she felt a violentcommotion in her legs. She picked herself up, fell down, picked herselfup again and walked. All her little companions, who were astonished, almost frightened at the sight, began to cry out 'Lucie can walk! Luciecan walk!' It was quite true. In a few seconds her legs had becomestraight and strong and healthy. She crossed the courtyard and was ableto climb up the steps of the chapel, where the whole sisterhood, transported with gratitude, chanted the _Magnificat_. Ah! the dear child, how happy, how happy she must have been!"

As Madame Vincent finished, two tears fell from her cheeks on to the paleface of her little girl, whom she kissed distractedly. 

The general interest was still increasing, becoming quite impassioned. The rapturous joy born of these beautiful stories, in which Heaveninvariably triumphed over human reality, transported these childlikesouls to such a point that those who were suffering the most grievouslysat up in their turn, and recovered the power of speech. And with thenarratives of one and all was blended a thought of the sufferer's ownailment, a belief that he or she would also be cured, since a malady ofthe same description had vanished like an evil dream beneath the breathof the Divinity. 

"Ah!" stammered Madame Vetu, her articulation hindered by her sufferings, "there was another one, Antoinette Thardivail, whose stomach was beingeaten away like mine. You would have said that dogs were devouring it, and sometimes there was a swelling in it as big as a child's head. Tumours indeed were ever forming in it, like fowl's eggs, so that foreight months she brought up blood. And she also was at the point ofdeath, with nothing but her skin left on her bones, and dying of hunger, when she drank some water of Lourdes and had the pit of her stomachwashed with it. Three minutes afterwards, her doctor, who on the previousday had left her almost in the last throes, scarce breathing, found herup and sitting by the fireside, eating a tender chicken's wing with agood appetite. She had no more tumours, she laughed as she had laughedwhen she was twenty, and her face had regained the brilliancy of youth. Ah! to be able to eat what one likes, to become young again, to ceasesuffering!"

"And the cure of Sister Julienne!" then exclaimed La Grivotte, raisingherself on one of her elbows, her eyes glittering with fever. "In hercase it commenced with a bad cold as it did with me, and then she beganto spit blood. And every six months she fell ill again and had to take toher bed. The last time everybody said that she wouldn't leave it alive. The doctors had vainly tried every remedy, iodine, blistering, andcauterising. In fact, hers was a real case of phthisis, certified by halfa dozen medical men. Well, she comes to Lourdes, and Heaven alone knowsamidst what awful suffering--she was so bad, indeed, that at Toulousethey thought for a moment that she was about to die! The Sisters had tocarry her in their arms, and on reaching the piscina thelady-hospitallers wouldn't bathe her. She was dead, they said. No matter!she was undressed at last, and plunged into the water, quite unconsciousand covered with perspiration. And when they took her out she was so palethat they laid her on the ground, thinking that it was certainly all overwith her at last. But, all at once, colour came back to her cheeks, hereyes opened, and she drew a long breath. She was cured; she dressedherself without any help and made a good meal after she had been to theGrotto to thank the Blessed Virgin. There! there's no gainsaying it, thatwas a real case of phthisis, completely cured as though by medicine!"

Thereupon Brother Isidore in his turn wished to speak; but he was unableto do so at any length, and could only with difficulty manage to say tohis sister: "Marthe, tell them the story of Sister Dorothee which thepriest of Saint-Sauveur related to us. "

"Sister Dorothee, " began the peasant girl in an awkward way, "felt herleg quite numbed when she got up one morning, and from that time she lostthe use of it, for it got as cold and as heavy as a stone. Besides whichshe felt a great pain in the back. The doctors couldn't understand it. She saw half a dozen of them, who pricked her with pins and burnt herskin with a lot of drugs. But it was just as if they had sung to her. Sister Dorothee had well understood that only the Blessed Virgin couldfind the right remedy for her, and so she went off to Lourdes, and hadherself dipped in the piscina. She thought at first that the water wasgoing to kill her, for it was so bitterly cold. But by-and-by it becameso soft that she fancied it was warm, as nice as milk. She had never feltso nice before, it seemed to her as if her veins were opening and thewater were flowing into them. As you will understand, life was returninginto her body since the Blessed Virgin was concerning herself in thecase. She no longer had anything the matter with her when she came out, but walked about, ate the whole of a pigeon for her dinner, and slept allnight long like the happy woman she was. Glory to the Blessed Virgin, eternal gratitude to the most Powerful Mother and her Divine Son!"

Elise Rouquet would also have liked to bring forward a miracle which shewas acquainted with. Only she spoke with so much difficulty owing to thedeformity of her mouth, that she had not yet been able to secure a turn. Just then, however, there was a pause, and drawing the wrap, whichconcealed the horror of her sore, slightly on one side, she profited bythe opportunity to begin. 

"For my part, I wasn't told anything about a great illness, but it was avery funny case at all events, " she said. "It was about a woman, Celestine Dubois, as she was called, who had run a needle right into herhand while she was washing. It stopped there for seven years, for nodoctor was able to take it out. Her hand shrivelled up, and she could nolonger open it. Well, she got to Lourdes, and dipped her hand into thepiscina. But as soon as she did so she began to shriek, and took it outagain. Then they caught hold of her and put her hand into the water byforce, and kept it there while she continued sobbing, with her facecovered with sweat. Three times did they plunge her hand into thepiscina, and each time they saw the needle moving along, till it came outby the tip of the thumb. She shrieked, of course, because the needle wasmoving though her flesh just as though somebody had been pushing it todrive it out. And after that Celestine never suffered again, and only alittle scar could be seen on her hand as a mark of what the BlessedVirgin had done. "

This anecdote produced a greater effect than even the miraculous cures ofthe most fearful illnesses. A needle which moved as though somebody werepushing it! This peopled the Invisible, showed each sufferer his GuardianAngel standing behind him, only awaiting the orders of Heaven in order torender him assistance. And besides, how pretty and childlike the storywas--this needle which came out in the miraculous water after obstinatelyrefusing to stir during seven long years. Exclamations of delightresounded from all the pleased listeners; they smiled and laughed withsatisfaction, radiant at finding that nothing was beyond the power ofHeaven, and that if it were Heaven's pleasure they themselves would allbecome healthy, young, and superb. It was sufficient that one shouldfervently believe and pray in order that nature might be confounded andthat the Incredible might come to pass. Apart from that there was merelya question of good luck, since Heaven seemed to make a selection of thosesufferers who should be cured. 

"Oh! how beautiful it is, father, " murmured Marie, who, revived by thepassionate interest which she took in the momentous subject, had so farcontented herself with listening, dumb with amazement as it were. "Do youremember, " she continued, "what you yourself told me of that poor woman, Joachine Dehaut, who came from Belgium and made her way right acrossFrance with her twisted leg eaten away by an ulcer, the awful smell ofwhich drove everybody away from her? First of all the ulcer was healed;you could press her knee and she felt nothing, only a slight rednessremained to mark where it had been. And then came the turn of thedislocation. She shrieked while she was in the water, it seemed to her asif somebody were breaking her bones, pulling her leg away from her; and, at the same time, she and the woman who was bathing her, saw her deformedfoot rise and extend into its natural shape with the regular movement ofa clock hand. Her leg also straightened itself, the muscles extended, theknee replaced itself in its proper position, all amidst such acute painthat Joachine ended by fainting. But as soon as she recoveredconsciousness, she darted off, erect and agile, to carry her crutches tothe Grotto. "

M. De Guersaint in his turn was laughing with wonderment, waving his handto confirm this story, which had been told him by a Father of theAssumption. He could have related a score of similar instances, said he, each more touching, more extraordinary than the other. He even invokedPierre's testimony, and the young priest, who was unable to believe, contented himself with nodding his head. At first, unwilling as he was toafflict Marie, he had striven to divert his thoughts by gazing though thecarriage window at the fields, trees, and houses which defiled before hiseyes. They had just passed Angouleme, and meadows stretched out, andlines of poplar trees fled away amidst the continuous fanning of the air, which the velocity of the train occasioned. 

They were late, no doubt, for they were hastening onward at full speed, thundering along under the stormy sky, through the fiery atmosphere, devouring kilometre after kilometre in swift succession. However, despitehimself, Pierre heard snatches of the various narratives, and grewinterested in these extravagant stories, which the rough jolting of thewheels accompanied like a lullaby, as though the engine had been turnedloose and were wildly bearing them away to the divine land of dreams, They were rolling, still rolling along, and Pierre at last ceased to gazeat the landscape, and surrendered himself to the heavy, sleep-invitingatmosphere of the carriage, where ecstasy was growing and spreading, carrying everyone far from the world of reality across which they were sorapidly rushing, The sight of Marie's face with its brightened lookfilled the young priest with sincere joy, and he let her retain his hand, which she had taken in order to acquaint him, by the pressure of herfingers, with all the confidence which was reviving in her soul. And whyshould he have saddened her by his doubts, since he was so desirous ofher cure? So he continued clasping her small, moist hand, feelinginfinite affection for her, a dolorous brotherly love which distractedhim, and made him anxious to believe in the pity of the spheres, in asuperior kindness which tempered suffering to those who were plunged indespair, "Oh!" she repeated, "how beautiful it is, Pierre! How beautifulit is! And what glory it will be if the Blessed Virgin deigns to disturbherself for me! Do you really think me worthy of such a favour?"

"Assuredly I do, " he exclaimed; "you are the best and the purest, with aspotless soul as your father said; there are not enough good angels inParadise to form your escort. "

But the narratives were not yet finished. Sister Hyacinthe and Madame deJonquiere were now enumerating all the miracles with which they wereacquainted, the long, long series of miracles which for more than thirtyyears had been flowering at Lourdes, like the uninterrupted budding ofthe roses on the Mystical Rose-tree. They could be counted by thousands, they put forth fresh shoots every year with prodigious verdancy of sap, becoming brighter and brighter each successive season. And the suffererswho listened to these marvellous stories with increasing feverishnesswere like little children who, after hearing one fine fairy tale, ask foranother, and another, and yet another. Oh! that they might have more andmore of those stories in which evil reality was flouted, in which unjustnature was cuffed and slapped, in which the Divinity intervened as thesupreme healer, He who laughs at science and distributes happinessaccording to His own good pleasure. 

First of all there were the deaf and the dumb who suddenly heard andspoke; such as Aurelie Bruneau, who was incurably deaf, with the drums ofboth ears broken, and yet was suddenly enraptured by the celestial musicof a harmonium; such also as Louise Pourchet, who on her side had beendumb for five-and-twenty years, and yet, whilst praying in the Grotto, suddenly exclaimed, "Hail, Mary, full of grace!" And there were others andyet others who were completely cured by merely letting a few drops ofwater fall into their ears or upon their tongues. Then came the processionof the blind: Father Hermann, who felt the Blessed Virgin's gentle handremoving the veil which covered his eyes; Mademoiselle de Pontbriant, whowas threatened with a total loss of sight, but after a simple prayer wasenabled to see better than she had ever seen before; then a child twelveyears old whose corneas resembled marbles, but who, in three seconds, became possessed of clear, deep eyes, bright with an angelic smile. However, there was especially an abundance of paralytics, of lame peoplesuddenly enabled to walk upright, of sufferers for long years powerless tostir from their beds of misery and to whom the voice said: "Arise andwalk!" Delannoy, * afflicted with ataxia, vainly cauterised and burnt, fifteen times an inmate of the Paris hospitals, whence he had emerged withthe concurring diagnosis of twelve doctors, feels a strange force raisinghim up as the Blessed Sacrament goes by, and he begins to follow it, hislegs strong and healthy once more. Marie Louise Delpon, a girl offourteen, suffering from paralysis which had stiffened her legs, drawnback her hands, and twisted her mouth on one side, sees her limbs loosenand the distortion of her mouth disappear as though an invisible hand weresevering the fearful bonds which had deformed her. Marie Vachier, rivetedto her arm-chair during seventeen years by paraplegia, not only runs andflies on emerging from the piscina, but finds no trace even of the soreswith which her long-enforced immobility had covered her body. And GeorgesHanquet, attacked by softening of the spinal marrow, passes withouttransition from agony to perfect health; while Leonie Charton, likewiseafflicted with softening of the medulla, and whose vertebrae bulge out toa considerable extent, feels her hump melting away as though byenchantment, and her legs rise and straighten, renovated and vigorous. 

 * This was one of the most notorious of the recorded cases and had a very strange sequel subsequent to the first publication of this work. Pierre Delannoy had been employed as a ward-assistant in one of the large Paris hospitals from 1877 to 1881, when he came to the conclusion that the life of an in-patient was far preferable to the one he was leading. He, therefore, resolved to pass the rest of his days inside different hospitals in the capacity of invalid. He started by feigning locomotor ataxia, and for six years deceived the highest medical experts in Paris, so curiously did he appear to suffer. He stayed in turn in all the hospitals in the city, being treated with every care and consideration, until at last he met with a doctor who insisted on cauterisation and other disagreeable remedies. Delannoy thereupon opined that the time to be cured had arrived, and cured he became, and was discharged. He next appeared at Lourdes, supported by crutches, and presenting every symptom of being hopelessly crippled. With other infirm and decrepid people he was dipped in the piscina and so efficacious did this treatment prove that he came out another man, threw his crutches to the ground and walked, as an onlooker expressed it, "like a rural postman. " All Lourdes rang with the fame of the miracle, and the Church, after starring Delannoy round the country as a specimen of what could be done at the holy spring, placed him in charge of a home for invalids. But this was too much like hard work, and he soon decamped with all the money he could lay his hands on. Returning to Paris he was admitted to the Hospital of Ste. Anne as suffering from mental debility, but this did not prevent him from running off one night with about $300 belonging to a dispenser. The police were put on his track and arrested him in May, 1895, when he tried to pass himself off as a lunatic; but he had become by this time too well known, and was indicted in due course. At his trial he energetically denied that he had ever shammed, but the Court would not believe him, and sentenced him to four years' imprisonment with hard labour. --Trans. 

Then came all sorts of ailments. First those brought about by scrofula--agreat many more legs long incapable of service and made anew. There wasMargaret Gehier, who had suffered from coxalgia for seven-and-twentyyears, whose hip was devoured by the disease, whose left knee wasanchylosed, and who yet was suddenly able to fall upon her knees to thankthe Blessed Virgin for healing her. There was also Philomene Simonneau, the young Vendeenne, whose left leg was perforated by three horriblesores in the depths of which her carious bones were visible, and whosebones, whose flesh, and whose skin were all formed afresh. 

Next came the dropsical ones: Madame Ancelin, the swelling of whose feet, hands, and entire body subsided without anyone being able to tell whitherall the water had gone; Mademoiselle Montagnon, from whom, on variousoccasions, nearly twenty quarts of water had been drawn, and who, onagain swelling, was entirely rid of the fluid by the application of abandage which had been dipped in the miraculous source. And, in her casealso, none of the water could be found, either in her bed or on thefloor. In the same way, not a complaint of the stomach resisted, alldisappeared with the first glass of water. There was Marie Souchet, whovomited black blood, who had wasted to a skeleton, and who devoured herfood and recovered her flesh in two days' time! There was Marie Jarlaud, who had burnt herself internally through drinking a glass of a metallicsolution used for cleansing and brightening kitchen utensils, and whofelt the tumour which had resulted from her injuries melt rapidly away. Moreover, every tumour disappeared in this fashion, in the piscina, without leaving the slightest trace behind. But that which caused yetgreater wonderment was the manner in which ulcers, cancers, all sorts ofhorrible, visible sores were cicatrised as by a breath from on high. AJew, an actor, whose hand was devoured by an ulcer, merely had to dip itin the water and he was cured. A very wealthy young foreigner, who had awen as large as a hen's egg, on his right wrist, _beheld_ it dissolve. Rose Duval, who, as a result of a white tumour, had a hole in her leftelbow, large enough to accommodate a walnut, was able to watch and followthe prompt action of the new flesh in filling up this cavity! The WidowFromond, with a lip half decoyed by a cancerous formation, merely had toapply the miraculous water to it as a lotion, and not even a red markremained. Marie Moreau, who experienced fearful sufferings from a cancerin the breast, fell asleep, after laying on it a linen cloth soaked insome water of Lourdes, and when she awoke, two hours later, the pain haddisappeared, and her flesh was once more smooth and pink and fresh. 

At last Sister Hyacinthe began to speak of the immediate and completecures of phthisis, and this was the triumph, the healing of that terribledisease which ravages humanity, which unbelievers defied the BlessedVirgin to cure, but which she did cure, it was said, by merely raisingher little finger. A hundred instances, more extraordinary one than theother, pressed forward for citation. 

Marguerite Coupel, who had suffered from phthisis for three years, andthe upper part of whose lungs is destroyed by tuberculosis, rises up andgoes off, radiant with health. Madame de la Riviere, who spits blood, whois ever covered with a cold perspiration, whose nails have alreadyacquired a violet tinge, who is indeed on the point of drawing her lastbreath, requires but a spoonful of the water to be administered to herbetween her teeth, and lo! the rattles cease, she sits up, makes theresponses to the litanies, and asks for some broth. Julie Jadot requiresfour spoonfuls; but then she could no longer hold up her head, she was ofsuch a delicate constitution that disease had reduced her to nothing; andyet, in a few days, she becomes quite fat. Anna Catry, who is in the mostadvanced stage of the malady, with her left lung half destroyed by acavity, is plunged five times into the cold water, contrary to all thedictates of prudence, and she is cured, her lung is healthy once more. Another consumptive girl, condemned by fifteen doctors, has askednothing, has simply fallen on her knees in the Grotto, by chance as itwere, and is afterwards quite surprised at having been cured _aupassage_, through the lucky circumstance of having been there, no doubt, at the hour when the Blessed Virgin, moved to pity, allows miracles tofall from her invisible hands. 

Miracles and yet more miracles! They rained down like the flowers ofdreams from a clear and balmy sky. Some of them were touching, some ofthem were childish. An old woman, who, having her hand anchylosed, hadbeen incapable of moving it for thirty years, washes it in the water andis at once able to make the sign of the Cross. Sister Sophie, who barkedlike a dog, plunges into the piscina and emerges from it with a clear, pure voice, chanting a canticle. Mustapha, a Turk, invokes the White Ladyand recovers the use of his right eye by applying a compress to it. Anofficer of Turcos was protected at Sedan; a cuirassier of Reichsoffenwould have died, pierced in the heart by a bullet, if this bullet afterpassing though his pocket-book had not stayed its flight on reaching alittle picture of Our Lady of Lourdes! And, as with the men and women, sodid the children, the poor, suffering little ones, find mercy; aparalytic boy of five rose and walked after being held for five minutesunder the icy jet of the spring; another one, fifteen years of age, who, lying in bed, could only raise an inarticulate cry, sprang out of thepiscina, shouting that he was cured; another one, but two years old, apoor tiny fellow who had never been able to walk, remained for a quarterof an hour in the cold water and then, invigorated and smiling, took hisfirst steps like a little man! And for all of them, the little ones aswell as the adults, the pain was acute whilst the miracle was beingaccomplished; for the work of repair could not be effected withoutcausing an extraordinary shock to the whole human organism; the bonesgrew again, new flesh was formed, and the disease, driven away, made itsescape in a final convulsion. But how great was the feeling of comfortwhich followed! The doctors could not believe their eyes, theirastonishment burst forth at each fresh cure, when they saw the patientswhom they had despaired of run and jump and eat with ravenous appetites. All these chosen ones, these women cured of their ailments, walked acouple of miles, sat down to roast fowl, and slept the soundest of sleepsfor a dozen hours. Moreover, there was no convalescence, it was a suddenleap from the death throes to complete health. Limbs were renovated, sores were filled up, organs were reformed in their entirety, plumpnessreturned to the emaciated, all with the velocity of a lightning flash!Science was completely baffled. Not even the most simple precautions weretaken, women were bathed at all times and seasons, perspiringconsumptives were plunged into the icy water, sores were left to theirputrefaction without any thought of employing antiseptics. And then whatcanticles of joy, what shouts of gratitude and love arose at each freshmiracle! The favoured one falls upon her knees, all who are present weep, conversions are effected, Protestants and Jews alike embraceCatholicism--other miracles these, miracles of faith, at which Heaventriumphs. And when the favoured one, chosen for the miracle, returns toher village, all the inhabitants crowd to meet her, whilst the bells pealmerrily; and when she is seen springing lightly from the vehicle whichhas brought her home, shouts and sobs of joy burst forth and all intonatethe _Magnificat_: Glory to the Blessed Virgin! Gratitude and love forever!

Indeed, that which was more particularly evolved from the realisation ofall these hopes, from the celebration of all these ardent thanksgivings, was gratitude--gratitude to the Mother most pure and most admirable. Shewas the great passion of every soul, she, the Virgin most powerful, theVirgin most merciful, the Mirror of Justice, the Seat of Wisdom. * Allhands were stretched towards her, Mystical Rose in the dim light of thechapels, Tower of Ivory on the horizon of dreamland, Gate of Heavenleading into the Infinite. Each day at early dawn she shone forth, brightMorning Star, gay with juvenescent hope. And was she not also the Healthof the weak, the Refuge of sinners, the Comforter of the afflicted?France had ever been her well-loved country, she was adored there with anardent worship, the worship of her womanhood and her motherhood, thesoaring of a divine affection; and it was particularly in France that itpleased her to show herself to little shepherdesses. She was so good tothe little and the humble; she continually occupied herself with them;and if she was appealed to so willingly it was because she was known tobe the intermediary of love betwixt Earth and Heaven. Every evening shewept tears of gold at the feet of her divine Son to obtain favours fromHim, and these favours were the miracles which He permitted her towork, --these beautiful, flower-like miracles, as sweet-scented as theroses of Paradise, so prodigiously splendid and fragrant. 

 * For the information of Protestant and other non-Catholic readers it may be mentioned that all the titles enumerated in this passage are taken from the Litany of the Blessed Virgin. --Trans. 

But the train was still rolling, rolling onward. They had just passedContras, it was six o'clock, and Sister Hyacinthe, rising to her, feet, clapped her hands together and once again repeated: "The Angelus, mychildren!"

Never had "Aves" impregnated with greater faith, inflamed with a morefervent desire to be heard by Heaven, winged their flight on high. AndPierre suddenly understood everything, clearly realised the meaning ofall these pilgrimages, of all these trains rolling along through everycountry of the civilised world, of all these eager crowds, hasteningtowards Lourdes, which blazed over yonder like the abode of salvation forbody and for mind. Ah! the poor wretches whom, ever since morning, he hadheard groaning with pain, the poor wretches who exposed their sorrycarcasses to the fatigues of such a journey! They were all condemned, abandoned by science, weary of consulting doctors, of having tried thetorturing effects of futile remedies. And how well one could understandthat, burning with a desire to preserve their lives, unable to resignthemselves to the injustice and indifference of Nature, they should dreamof a superhuman power, of an almighty Divinity who, in their favour, would perchance annul the established laws, alter the course of theplanets, and reconsider His creation! For if the world failed them, didnot the Divinity remain to them? In their cases reality was tooabominable, and an immense need of illusion and falsehood sprang upwithin them. Oh! to believe that there is a supreme Justiciar somewhere, one who rights the apparent wrongs of things and beings; to believe thatthere is a Redeemer, a consoler who is the real master, who can carry thetorrents back to their source, who can restore youth to the aged, andlife to the dead! And when you are covered with sores, when your limbsare twisted, when your stomach is swollen by tumours, when your lungs aredestroyed by disease, to be able to say that all this is of noconsequence, that everything may disappear and be renewed at a sign fromthe Blessed Virgin, that it is sufficient that you should pray to her, touch her heart, and obtain the favour of being chosen by her. And thenwhat a heavenly fount of hope appeared with the prodigious flow of thosebeautiful stories of cure, those adorable fairy tales which lulled andintoxicated the feverish imaginations of the sick and the infirm. Sincelittle Sophie Couteau, with her white, sound foot, had climbed into thatcarriage, opening to the gaze of those within it the limitless heavens ofthe Divine and the Supernatural, how well one could understand the breathof resurrection that was passing over the world, slowly raising those whodespaired the most from their beds of misery, and making their eyes shinesince life was itself a possibility for them, and they were, perhaps, about to begin it afresh. 

Yes, 't was indeed that. If that woeful train was rolling, rolling on, ifthat carriage was full, if the other carriages were full also, if Franceand the world, from the uttermost limits of the earth, were crossed bysimilar trains, if crowds of three hundred thousand believers, bringingthousands of sick along with them, were ever setting out, from one end ofthe year to the other, it was because the Grotto yonder was shining forthin its glory like a beacon of hope and illusion, like a sign of therevolt and triumph of the Impossible over inexorable materiality. Neverhad a more impassionating romance been devised to exalt the souls of menabove the stern laws of life. To dream that dream, this was the great, the ineffable happiness. If the Fathers of the Assumption had seen thesuccess of their pilgrimages increase and spread from year to year, itwas because they sold to all the flocking peoples the bread ofconsolation and illusion, the delicious bread of hope, for whichsuffering humanity ever hungers with a hunger that nothing will everappease. And it was not merely the physical sores which cried aloud forcure, the whole of man's moral and intellectual being likewise shriekedforth its wretchedness, with an insatiable yearning for happiness. To behappy, to place the certainty of life in faith, to lean till death shouldcome upon that one strong staff of travel--such was the desire exhaled byevery breast, the desire which made every moral grief bend the knee, imploring a continuance of grace, the conversion of dear ones, thespiritual salvation of self and those one loved. The mighty cry spreadfrom pole to pole, ascended and filled all the regions of space: To behappy, happy for evermore, both in life and in death!

And Pierre saw the suffering beings around him lose all perception of thejolting and recover their strength as league by league they drew nearerto the miracle. Even Madame Maze grew talkative, certain as she felt thatthe Blessed Virgin would restore her husband to her. With a smile on herface Madame Vincent gently rocked her little Rose in her arms, thinkingthat she was not nearly so ill as those all but lifeless children who, after being plunged in the icy water, sprang out and played. M. Sabathierjested with M. De Guersaint, and explained to him that, next October, when he had recovered the use of his legs, he should go on a trip toRome--a journey which he had been postponing for fifteen years and more. Madame Vetu, quite calmed, feeling nothing but a slight twinge in thestomach, imagined that she was hungry, and asked Madame de Jonquiere tolet her dip some strips of bread in a glass of milk; whilst EliseRouquet, forgetting her sores, ate some grapes, with face uncovered. Andin La Grivotte who was sitting up and Brother Isidore who had ceasedmoaning, all those fine stories had left a pleasant fever, to such apoint that, impatient to be cured, they grew anxious to know the time. For a minute also the man, the strange man, resuscitated. Whilst SisterHyacinthe was again wiping the cold sweat from his brow, he raised hiseyelids, and a smile momentarily brightened his pallid countenance. Yetonce again he, also, had hoped. 

Marie was still holding Pierre's fingers in her own small, warm hand. Itwas seven o'clock, they were not due at Bordeaux till half-past seven;and the belated train was quickening its pace yet more and more, rushingalong with wild speed in order to make up for the minutes it had lost. The storm had ended by coming down, and now a gentle light of infinitepurity fell from the vast clear heavens. 

"Oh! how beautiful it is, Pierre--how beautiful it is!" Marie againrepeated, pressing his hand with tender affection. And leaning towardshim, she added in an undertone: "I beheld the Blessed Virgin a littlewhile ago, Pierre, and it was your cure that I implored and shallobtain. "

The priest, who understood her meaning, was thrown into confusion by thedivine light which gleamed in her eyes as she fixed them on his own. Shehad forgotten her own sufferings; that which she had asked for was hisconversion; and that prayer of faith, emanating, pure and candid, fromthat dear, suffering creature, upset his soul. Yet why should he notbelieve some day? He himself had been distracted by all thoseextraordinary narratives. The stifling heat of the carriage had made himdizzy, the sight of all the woe heaped up there caused his heart to bleedwith pity. And contagion was doing its work; he no longer knew where thereal and the possible ceased, he lacked the power to disentangle such amass of stupefying facts, to explain such as admitted of explanation andreject the others. At one moment, indeed, as a hymn once more resoundedand carried him off with its stubborn importunate rhythm, he ceased to bemaster of himself, and imagined that he was at last beginning to believeamidst the hallucinatory vertigo which reigned in that travellinghospital, rolling, ever rolling onward at full speed. 

V. BERNADETTE

THE train left Bordeaux after a stoppage of a few minutes, during whichthose who had not dined hastened to purchase some provisions. Moreover, the ailing ones were constantly drinking milk, and asking for biscuits, like little children. And, as soon as they were off again, SisterHyacinthe clapped her hands, and exclaimed: "Come, let us make haste; theevening prayer. "

Thereupon, during a quarter of an hour came a confused murmuring, made upof "Paters" and "Aves, " self-examinations, acts of contrition, and vowsof trustful reliance in God, the Blessed Virgin, and the Saints, withthanksgiving for protection and preservation that day, and, at last, aprayer for the living and for the faithful departed. 

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen. "

It was ten minutes past eight o'clock, the shades of night were alreadybedimming the landscape--a vast plain which the evening mist seemed toprolong into the infinite, and where, far away, bright dots of lightshone out from the windows of lonely, scattered houses. In the carriage, the lights of the lamps were flickering, casting a subdued yellow glow onthe luggage and the pilgrims, who were sorely shaken by the spreadingtendency of the train's motion. 

"You know, my children, " resumed Sister Hyacinthe, who had remainedstanding, "I shall order silence when we get to Lamothe, in about anhour's time. So you have an hour to amuse yourselves, but you must bereasonable and not excite yourselves too much. And when we have passedLamothe, you hear me, there must not be another word, another sound, youmust all go to sleep. "

This made them laugh. 

"Oh! but it is the rule, you know, " added the Sister, "and surely youhave too much sense not to obey me. "

Since the morning they had punctually fulfilled the programme ofreligious exercises specified for each successive hour. And now that allthe prayers had been said, the beads told, the hymns chanted, the day'sduties were over, and a brief interval for recreation was allowed beforesleeping. They were, however, at a loss as to what they should do. 

"Sister, " suddenly said Marie, "if you would allow Monsieur l'Abbe toread to us--he reads extremely well, --and as it happens I have a littlebook with me--a history of Bernadette which is so interesting--"

The others did nor let her finish, but with the suddenly awakened desireof children to whom a beautiful story has been promised, loudlyexclaimed: "Oh! yes, Sister. Oh! yes, Sister--"

"Of course I will allow it, " replied Sister Hyacinthe, "since it is aquestion of reading something instructive and edifying. "

Pierre was obliged to consent. But to be able to read the book he wishedto be under the lamp, and it was necessary that he should change seatswith M. De Guersaint, whom the promise of a story had delighted as muchas it did the ailing ones. And when the young priest, after changingseats and declaring that he would be able to see well enough, at lastopened the little book, a quiver of curiosity sped from one end of thecarriage to the other, and every head was stretched out, lending ear withrapt attention. Fortunately, Pierre had a clear, powerful voice and madehimself distinctly heard above the wheels, which, now that the traintravelled across a vast level plain, gave out but a subdued, rumblingsound. 

Before beginning, however, the young priest had examined the book. It wasone of those little works of propaganda issued from the Catholicprinting-presses and circulated in profusion throughout all Christendom. Badly printed, on wretched paper, it was adorned on its blue cover with alittle wood-cut of Our Lady of Lourdes, a naive design alike stiff andawkward. The book itself was short, and half an hour would certainlysuffice to read it from cover to cover without hurrying. 

Accordingly, in his fine, clear voice, with its penetrating, musicaltones, he began his perusal as follows:--

"It happened at Lourdes, a little town near the Pyrenees, on a Thursday, February 11, 1858. The weather was cold, and somewhat cloudy, and in thehumble home of a poor but honest miller named Francois Soubirous therewas no wood to cook the dinner. The miller's wife, Louise, said to heryounger daughter Marie, 'Go and gather some wood on the bank of the Gaveor on the common-land. ' The Gave is a torrent which passes throughLourdes. 

"Marie had an elder sister, named Bernadette, who had lately arrived fromthe country, where some worthy villagers had employed her as ashepherdess. She was a slender, delicate, extremely innocent child, andknew nothing except her rosary. Louise Soubirous hesitated to send herout with her sister, on account of the cold, but at last, yielding to theentreaties of Marie and a young girl of the neighbourhood called JeanneAbadie, she consented to let her go. 

"Following the bank of the torrent and gathering stray fragments of deadwood, the three maidens at last found themselves in front of the Grotto, hollowed out in a huge mass of rock which the people of the districtcalled Massabielle. "

Pierre had reached this point and was turning the page when he suddenlypaused and let the little book fall on his knees. The childish characterof the narrative, its ready-made, empty phraseology, filled him withimpatience. He himself possessed quite a collection of documentsconcerning this extraordinary story, had passionately studied even itsmost trifling details, and in the depths of his heart retained a feelingof tender affection and infinite pity for Bernadette. He had justreflected, too, that on the very next day he would be able to begin thatdecisive inquiry which he had formerly dreamt of making at Lourdes. Infact, this was one of the reasons which had induced him to accompanyMarie on her journey. And he was now conscious of an awakening of all hiscuriosity respecting the Visionary, whom he loved because he felt thatshe had been a girl of candid soul, truthful and ill-fated, though at thesame time he would much have liked to analyse and explain her case. Assuredly, she had not lied, she had indeed beheld a vision and heardvoices, like Joan of Arc; and like Joan of Arc also, she was now, in theopinion of the devout, accomplishing the deliverance of France--from sinif not from invaders. Pierre wondered what force could have producedher--her and her work. How was it that the visionary faculty had becomedeveloped in that lowly girl, so distracting believing souls as to bringabout a renewal of the miracles of primitive times, as to found almost anew religion in the midst of a Holy City, built at an outlay of millions, and ever invaded by crowds of worshippers more numerous and more exaltedin mind than had ever been known since the days of the Crusades?

And so, ceasing to read the book, Pierre began to tell his companions allthat he knew, all that he had divined and reconstructed of that storywhich is yet so obscure despite the vast rivers of ink which it hasalready caused to flow. He knew the country and its manners and customs, through his long conversations with his friend Doctor Chassaigne. And hewas endowed with charming fluency of language, an emotional power ofexquisite purity, many remarkable gifts well fitting him to be a pulpitorator, which he never made use of, although he had known them to bewithin him ever since his seminary days. When the occupants of thecarriage perceived that he knew the story, far better and in far greaterdetail than it appeared in Marie's little book, and that he related italso in such a gentle yet passionate way, there came an increase ofattention, and all those afflicted souls hungering for happiness wentforth towards him. First came the story of Bernadette's childhood atBartres, where she had grown up in the abode of her foster-mother, MadameLagues, who, having lost an infant of her own, had rendered those poorfolks, the Soubirouses, the service of suckling and keeping their childfor them. Bartres, a village of four hundred souls, at a league or sofrom Lourdes, lay as it were in a desert oasis, sequestered amidstgreenery, and far from any frequented highway. The road dips down, thefew houses are scattered over grassland, divided by hedges and plantedwith walnut and chestnut trees, whilst the clear rivulets, which arenever silent, follow the sloping banks beside the pathways, and nothingrises on high save the small ancient romanesque church, which is perchedon a hillock, covered with graves. Wooded slopes undulate upon all sides. Bartres lies in a hollow amidst grass of delicious freshness, grass ofintense greenness, which is ever moist at the roots, thanks to theeternal subterraneous expanse of water which is fed by the mountaintorrents. And Bernadette, who, since becoming a big girl, had paid forher keep by tending lambs, was wont to take them with her, season afterseason, through all the greenery where she never met a soul. It was onlynow and then, from the summit of some slope, that she saw the far-awaymountains, the Pic du Midi, the Pic de Viscos, those masses which roseup, bright or gloomy, according to the weather, and which stretched awayto other peaks, lightly and faintly coloured, vaguely and confusedlyoutlined, like apparitions seen in dreams. 

Then came the home of the Lagueses, where her cradle was still preserved, a solitary, silent house, the last of the village. A meadow planted withpear and apple trees, and only separated from the open country by anarrow stream which one could jump across, stretched out in front of thehouse. Inside the latter, a low and damp abode, there were, on eitherside of the wooden stairway leading to the loft, but two spacious rooms, flagged with stones, and each containing four or five beds. The girls, who slept together, fell asleep at even, gazing at the fine picturesaffixed to the walls, whilst the big clock in its pinewood case gravelystruck the hours in the midst of the deep silence. 

Ah! those years at Bartres; in what sweet peacefulness did Bernadettelive them! Yet she grew up very thin, always in bad health, sufferingfrom a nervous asthma which stifled her in the least veering of the wind;and on attaining her twelfth year she could neither read nor write, norspeak otherwise than in dialect, having remained quite infantile, behindhand in mind as in body. She was a very good little girl, verygentle and well behaved, and but little different from other children, except that instead of talking she preferred to listen. Limited as washer intelligence, she often evinced much natural common-sense, and attimes was prompt in her _reparties_, with a kind of simple gaiety whichmade one smile. It was only with infinite trouble that she was taught herrosary, and when she knew it she seemed bent on carrying her knowledge nofurther, but repeated it all day long, so that whenever you met her withher lambs, she invariably had her chaplet between her fingers, diligentlytelling each successive "Pater" and "Ave. " For long, long hours she livedlike this on the grassy slopes of the hills, hidden away and haunted asit were amidst the mysteries of the foliage, seeing nought of the worldsave the crests of the distant mountains, which, for an instant, everynow and then, would soar aloft in the radiant light, as ethereal as thepeaks of dreamland. 

Days followed days, and Bernadette roamed, dreaming her one narrow dream, repeating the sole prayer she knew, which gave her amidst her solitude, so fresh and naively infantile, no other companion and friend than theBlessed Virgin. But what pleasant evenings she spent in the winter-timein the room on the left, where a fire was kept burning! Her foster-motherhad a brother, a priest, who occasionally read some marvellous stories tothem--stories of saints, prodigious adventures of a kind to make onetremble with mingled fear and joy, in which Paradise appeared upon earth, whilst the heavens opened and a glimpse was caught of the splendour ofthe angels. The books he brought with him were often full ofpictures--God the Father enthroned amidst His glory; Jesus, so gentle andso handsome with His beaming face; the Blessed Virgin, who recurred againand again, radiant with splendour, clad now in white, now in azure, nowin gold, and ever so amiable that Bernadette would see her again in herdreams. But the book which was read more than all others was the Bible, an old Bible which had been in the family for more than a hundred years, and which time and usage had turned yellow. Each winter eveningBernadette's foster-father, the only member of the household who hadlearnt to read, would take a pin, pass it at random between the leaves ofthe book, open the latter, and then start reading from the top of theright-hand page, amidst the deep attention of both the women and thechildren, who ended by knowing the book by heart, and could havecontinued reciting it without a single mistake. 

However, Bernadette, for her part, preferred the religious works in whichthe Blessed Virgin constantly appeared with her engaging smile. True, onereading of a different character amused her, that of the marvellous storyof the Four Brothers Aymon. On the yellow paper cover of the little book, which had doubtless fallen from the bale of some peddler who had lost hisway in that remote region, there was a naive cut showing the four doughtyknights, Renaud and his brothers, all mounted on Bayard, their famousbattle charger, that princely present made to them by the fairy Orlanda. And inside were narratives of bloody fights, of the building andbesieging of fortresses, of the terrible swordthrusts exchanged by Rolandand Renaud, who was at last about to free the Holy Land, withoutmentioning the tales of Maugis the Magician and his marvellousenchantments, and the Princess Clarisse, the King of Aquitaine's sister, who was more lovely than sunlight. Her imagination fired by such storiesas these, Bernadette often found it difficult to get to sleep; and thiswas especially the case on the evenings when the books were left aside, and some person of the company related a tale of witchcraft. The girl wasvery superstitious, and after sundown could never be prevailed upon topass near a tower in the vicinity, which was said to be haunted by thefiend. For that matter, all the folks of the region were superstitious, devout, and simple-minded, the whole countryside being peopled, so tosay, with mysteries--trees which sang, stones from which blood flowed, cross-roads where it was necessary to say three "Paters" and three"Aves, " if you did not wish to meet the seven-horned beast who carriedmaidens off to perdition. And what a wealth of terrifying stories therewas! Hundreds of stories, so that there was no finishing on the eveningswhen somebody started them. First came the wehrwolf adventures, the talesof the unhappy men whom the demon forced to enter into the bodies ofdogs, the great white dogs of the mountains. If you fire a gun at the dogand a single shot should strike him, the man will be delivered; but ifthe shot should fall on the dog's shadow, the man will immediately die. Then came the endless procession of sorcerers and sorceresses. In one ofthese tales Bernadette evinced a passionate interest; it was the story ofa clerk of the tribunal of Lourdes who, wishing to see the devil, wasconducted by a witch into an untilled field at midnight on Good Friday. The devil arrived clad in magnificent scarlet garments, and at onceproposed to the clerk that he should buy his soul, an offer which theclerk pretended to accept. It so happened that the devil was carryingunder his arm a register in which different persons of the town, who hadalready sold themselves, had signed their names. However, the clerk, whowas a cunning fellow, pulled out of his pocket a pretended bottle of ink, which in reality contained holy water, and with this he sprinkled thedevil, who raised frightful shrieks, whilst the clerk took to flight, carrying the register off with him. Then began a wild, mad race, whichmight last throughout the night, over the mountains, through the valleys, across the forests and the torrents. "Give me back my register!" shoutedthe fiend. "No, you sha'n't have it!" replied the clerk. And again andagain it began afresh: "Give me back my register!"--"No, you sha'n't haveit'!" And at last, finding himself out of breath, near the point ofsuccumbing, the clerk, who had his plan, threw himself into the cemetery, which was consecrated ground, and was there able to deride the devil athis ease, waving the register which he had purloined so as to save thesouls of all the unhappy people who had signed their names in it. On theevening when this story was told, Bernadette, before surrendering herselfto sleep, would mentally repeat her rosary, delighted with the thoughtthat hell should have been baffled, though she trembled at the idea thatit would surely return to prowl around her, as soon as the lamp shouldhave been put out. 

Throughout one winter, the long evenings were spent in the church. AbbeAder, the village priest, had authorised it, and many families came, inorder to economise oil and candles. Moreover, they felt less cold whengathered together in this fashion. The Bible was read, and prayers wererepeated, whilst the children ended by falling asleep. Bernadette alonestruggled on to the finish, so pleased she was at being there, in thatnarrow nave whose slender nervures were coloured blue and red. At thefarther end was the altar, also painted and gilded, with its twistedcolumns and its screens on which appeared the Virgin and Ste. Anne, andthe beheading of St. John the Baptist--the whole of a gaudy and somewhatbarbaric splendour. And as sleepiness grew upon her, the child must haveoften seen a mystical vision as it were of those crudely coloured designsrising before her--have seen the blood flowing from St. John's severedhead, have seen the aureolas shining, the Virgin ever returning andgazing at her with her blue, living eyes, and looking as though she wereon the point of opening her vermilion lips in order to speak to her. Forsome months Bernadette spent her evenings in this wise, half asleep infront of that sumptuous, vaguely defined altar, in the incipiency of adivine dream which she carried away with her, and finished in bed, slumbering peacefully under the watchful care of her guardian angel. 

And it was also in that old church, so humble yet so impregnated withardent faith, that Bernadette began to learn her catechism. She wouldsoon be fourteen now, and must think of her first communion. Herfoster-mother, who had the reputation of being avaricious, did not sendher to school, but employed her in or about the house from morning tillevening. M. Barbet, the schoolmaster, never saw her at his classes, though one day, when he gave the catechism lesson, in the place of AbbeAder who was indisposed, he remarked her on account of her piety andmodesty. The village priest was very fond of Bernadette and often spokeof her to the schoolmaster, saying that he could never look at herwithout thinking of the children of La Salette, since they must have beengood, candid, and pious as she was, for the Blessed Virgin to haveappeared to them. * On another occasion whilst the two men were walkingone morning near the village, and saw Bernadette disappear with herlittle flock under some spreading trees in the distance, the Abberepeatedly turned round to look for her, and again remarked "I cannotaccount for it, but every time I meet that child it seems to me as if Isaw Melanie, the young shepherdess, little Maximin's companion. " He wascertainly beset by this singular idea, which became, so to say, aprediction. Moreover, had he not one day after catechism, or one evening, when the villagers were gathered in the church, related that marvellousstory which was already twelve years old, that story of the Lady in thedazzling robes who walked upon the grass without even making it bend, theBlessed Virgin who showed herself to Melanie and Maximin on the banks ofa stream in the mountains, and confided to them a great secret andannounced the anger of her Son? Ever since that day a source had sprungup from the tears which she had shed, a source which cured all ailments, whilst the secret, inscribed on parchment fastened with three seals, slumbered at Rome! And Bernadette, no doubt, with her dreamy, silent air, had listened passionately to that wonderful tale and carried it off withher into the desert of foliage where she spent her days, so that shemight live it over again as she walked along behind her lambs with herrosary, slipping bead by bead between her slender fingers. 

 * It was on September 19, 1846, that the Virgin is said to have appeared in the ravine of La Sezia, adjacent to the valley of La Salette, between Corps and Eutraigues, in the department of the Isere. The visionaries were Melanie Mathieu, a girl of fourteen, and Maximin Giraud, a boy of twelve. The local clergy speedily endorsed the story of the miracle, and thousands of people still go every year in pilgrimage to a church overlooking the valley, and bathe and drink at a so-called miraculous source. Two priests of Grenoble, however, Abbe Deleon and Abbe Cartellier, accused a Mlle. De Lamerliere of having concocted the miracle, and when she took proceedings against them for libel she lost her case. --Trans. 

Thus her childhood ran its course at Bartres. That which delighted one inthis Bernadette, so poor-blooded, so slight of build, was her ecstaticeyes, beautiful visionary eyes, from which dreams soared aloft like birdswinging their flight in a pure limpid sky. Her mouth was large, with lipssomewhat thick, expressive of kindliness; her square-shaped head had astraight brow, and was covered with thick black hair, whilst her facewould have seemed rather common but for its charming expression of gentleobstinacy. Those who did not gaze into her eyes, however, gave her nothought. To them she was but an ordinary child, a poor thing of theroads, a girl of reluctant growth, timidly humble in her ways. Assuredlyit was in her glance that Abbe Ader had with agitation detected thestifling ailment which filled her puny, girlish form with suffering--thatailment born of the greeny solitude in which she had grown up, thegentleness of her bleating lambs, the Angelic Salutation which she hadcarried with her, hither and thither, under the sky, repeating andrepeating it to the point of hallucination, the prodigious stories, too, which she had heard folks tell at her foster-mother's, the long eveningsspent before the living altar-screens in the church, and all theatmosphere of primitive faith which she had breathed in that far-awayrural region, hemmed in by mountains. 

At last, on one seventh of January, Bernadette had just reached herfourteenth birthday, when her parents, finding that she learnt nothing atBartres, resolved to bring her back to Lourdes for good, in order thatshe might diligently study her catechism, and in this wise seriouslyprepare herself for her first communion. And so it happened that she hadalready been at Lourdes some fifteen or twenty days, when on February 11, a Thursday, cold and somewhat cloudy--

But Pierre could carry his narrative no further, for Sister Hyacinthe hadrisen to her feet and was vigorously clapping her hands. "My children, "she exclaimed, "it is past nine o'clock. Silence! silence!"

The train had indeed just passed Lamothe, and was rolling with a dullrumble across a sea of darkness--the endless plains of the Landes whichthe night submerged. For ten minutes already not a sound ought to havebeen heard in the carriage, one and all ought to have been sleeping orsuffering uncomplainingly. However, a mutiny broke out. 

"Oh! Sister!" exclaimed Marie, whose eyes were sparkling, "allow us justanother short quarter of an hour! We have got to the most interestingpart. "

Ten, twenty voices took up the cry: "Oh yes, Sister, please do let ushave another short quarter of an hour!"

They all wished to hear the continuation, burning with as much curiosityas though they had not known the story, so captivated were they by thetouches of compassionate human feeling which Pierre introduced into hisnarrative. Their glances never left him, all their heads were stretchedtowards him, fantastically illumined by the flickering light of thelamps. And it was not only the sick who displayed this interest; the tenwomen occupying the compartment at the far end of the carriage had alsobecome impassioned, and, happy at not missing a single word, turned theirpoor ugly faces now beautified by naive faith. 

"No, I cannot!" Sister Hyacinthe at first declared; "the rules are verystrict--you must be silent. "

However, she weakened, she herself feeling so interested in the tale thatshe could detect her heart beating under her stomacher. Then Marie againrepeated her request in an entreating tone; whilst her father, M. DeGuersaint, who had listened like one hugely amused, declared that theywould all fall ill if the story were not continued. And thereupon, seeingMadame de Jonquiere smile with an indulgent air, Sister Hyacinthe endedby consenting. 

"Well, then, " said she, "I will allow you another short quarter of anhour; but only a short quarter of an hour, mind. That is understood, isit not? For I should otherwise be in fault. "

Pierre had waited quietly without attempting to intervene. And he resumedhis narrative in the same penetrating voice as before, a voice in whichhis own doubts were softened by pity for those who suffer and who hope. 

The scene of the story was now transferred to Lourdes, to the Rue desPetits Fosses, a narrow, tortuous, mournful street taking a downwardcourse between humble houses and roughly plastered dead walls. TheSoubirous family occupied a single room on the ground floor of one ofthese sorry habitations, a room at the end of a dark passage, in whichseven persons were huddled together, the father, the mother, and fivechildren. You could scarcely see in the chamber; from the tiny, dampinner courtyard of the house there came but a greenish light. And in thatroom they slept, all of a heap; and there also they ate, when they hadbread. For some time past, the father, a miller by trade, could only withdifficulty obtain work as a journeyman. And it was from that dark hole, that lowly wretchedness, that Bernadette, the elder girl, with Marie, hersister, and Jeanne, a little friend of the neighbourhood, went out topick up dead wood, on the cold February Thursday already spoken of. 

Then the beautiful tale was unfolded at length; how the three girlsfollowed the bank of the Gave from the other side of the castle, and howthey ended by finding themselves on the Ile du Chalet in front of therock of Massabielle, from which they were only separated by the narrowstream diverted from the Gave, and used for working the mill of Savy. Itwas a wild spot, whither the common herdsman often brought the pigs ofthe neighbourhood, which, when showers suddenly came on, would takeshelter under this rock of Massabielle, at whose base there was a kind ofgrotto of no great depth, blocked at the entrance by eglantine andbrambles. The girls found dead wood very scarce that day, but at last onseeing on the other side of the stream quite a gleaning of branchesdeposited there by the torrent, Marie and Jeanne crossed over through thewater; whilst Bernadette, more delicate than they were, a trifleyoung-ladyfied, perhaps, remained on the bank lamenting, and not daringto wet her feet. She was suffering slightly from humour in the head, andher mother had expressly bidden her to wrap herself in her _capulet_, * alarge white _capulet_ which contrasted vividly with her old black woollendress. When she found that her companions would not help her, sheresignedly made up her mind to take off her _sabots_, and pull down herstockings. It was then about noon, the three strokes of the Angelus rangout from the parish church, rising into the broad calm winter sky, whichwas somewhat veiled by fine fleecy clouds. And it was then that a greatagitation arose within her, resounding in her ears with such atempestuous roar that she fancied a hurricane had descended from themountains, and was passing over her. But she looked at the trees and wasstupefied, for not a leaf was stirring. Then she thought that she hadbeen mistaken, and was about to pick up her _sabots_, when again thegreat gust swept through her; but, this time, the disturbance in her earsreached her eyes, she no longer saw the trees, but was dazzled by awhiteness, a kind of bright light which seemed to her to settle itselfagainst the rock, in a narrow, lofty slit above the Grotto, not unlike anogival window of a cathedral. In her fright she fell upon her knees. Whatcould it be, _mon Dieu_? Sometimes, during bad weather, when her asthmaoppressed her more than usual, she spent very bad nights, incessantlydreaming dreams which were often painful, and whose stifling effect sheretained on awaking, even when she had ceased to remember anything. Flames would surround her, the sun would flash before her face. Had shedreamt in that fashion during the previous night? Was this thecontinuation of some forgotten dream? However, little by little a formbecame outlined, she believed that she could distinguish a figure whichthe vivid light rendered intensely white. In her fear lest it should bethe devil, for her mind was haunted by tales of witchcraft, she began totell her beads. And when the light had slowly faded away, and she hadcrossed the canal and joined Marie and Jeanne, she was surprised to findthat neither of them had seen anything whilst they were picking up thewood in front of the Grotto. On their way back to Lourdes the three girlstalked together. So she, Bernadette, had seen something then? What wasit? At first, feeling uneasy, and somewhat ashamed, she would not answer;but at last she said that she had seen something white. 

 * This is a kind of hood, more generally known among the Bearnese peasantry as a _sarot_. Whilst forming a coif it also completely covers the back and shoulders. --Trans. 

From this the rumours started and grew. The Soubirouses, on being madeacquainted with the circumstance, evinced much displeasure at suchchildish nonsense, and told their daughter that she was not to return tothe rock of Massabielle. All the children of the neighbourhood, however, were already repeating the tale, and when Sunday came the parents had togive way, and allow Bernadette to betake herself to the Grotto with abottle of holy water to ascertain if it were really the devil whom onehad to deal with. She then again beheld the light, the figure became moreclearly defined, and smiled upon her, evincing no fear whatever of theholy water. And, on the ensuing Thursday, she once more returned to thespot accompanied by several persons, and then for the first time theradiant lady assumed sufficient corporality to speak, and say to her: "Dome the kindness to come here for fifteen days. "

Thus, little by little, the lady had assumed a precise appearance. Thesomething clad in white had become indeed a lady more beautiful than aqueen, of a kind such as is only seen in pictures. At first, in presenceof the questions with which all the neighbours plied her from morningtill evening, Bernadette had hesitated, disturbed, perhaps, by scruplesof conscience. But then, as though prompted by the very interrogatoriesto which she was subjected, she seemed to perceive the figure which shehad beheld, more plainly, so that it definitely assumed life, with linesand hues from which the child, in her after-descriptions, never departed. The lady's eyes were blue and very mild, her mouth was rosy and smiling, the oval of her face expressed both the grace of youth and of maternity. Below the veil covering her head and falling to her heels, only a glimpsewas caught of her admirable fair hair, which was slightly curled. Herrobe, which was of dazzling whiteness, must have been of some materialunknown on earth, some material woven of the sun's rays. Her sash, of thesame hue as the heavens, was fastened loosely about her, its long endsstreaming downwards, with the light airiness of morning. Her chaplet, wound about her right arm, had beads of a milky whiteness, whilst thelinks and the cross were of gold. And on her bare feet, on her adorablefeet of virgin snow, flowered two golden roses, the mystic roses of thisdivine mother's immaculate flesh. 

Where was it that Bernadette had seen this Blessed Virgin, of suchtraditionally simple composition, unadorned by a single jewel, having butthe primitive grace imagined by the painters of a people in itschildhood? In which illustrated book belonging to her foster-mother'sbrother, the good priest, who read such attractive stories, had shebeheld this Virgin? Or in what picture, or what statuette, or whatstained-glass window of the painted and gilded church where she had spentso many evenings whilst growing up? And whence, above all things, hadcome those golden roses poised on the Virgin's feet, that piouslyimagined florescence of woman's flesh--from what romance of chivalry, from what story told after catechism by the Abbe Ader, from whatunconscious dream indulged in under the shady foliage of Bartres, whilstever and ever repeating that haunting Angelic Salutation?

Pierre's voice had acquired a yet more feeling tone, for if he did notsay all these things to the simple-minded folks who were listening tohim, still the human explanation of all these prodigies which the feelingof doubt in the depths of his being strove to supply, imparted to hisnarrative a quiver of sympathetic, fraternal love. He loved Bernadettethe better for the great charm of her hallucination--that lady of suchgracious access, such perfect amiability, such politeness in appearingand disappearing so appropriately. At first the great light would showitself, then the vision took form, came and went, leant forward, movedabout, floating imperceptibly, with ethereal lightness; and when itvanished the glow lingered for yet another moment, and then disappearedlike a star fading away. No lady in this world could have such a whiteand rosy face, with a beauty so akin to that of the Virgins on thepicture-cards given to children at their first communions. And it wasstrange that the eglantine of the Grotto did not even hurt her adorablebare feet blooming with golden flowers. 

Pierre, however, at once proceeded to recount the other apparitions. Thefourth and fifth occurred on the Friday and the Saturday; but the Lady, who shone so brightly and who had not yet told her name, contentedherself on these occasions with smiling and saluting without pronouncinga word. On the Sunday, however, she wept, and said to Bernadette, "Prayfor sinners. " On the Monday, to the child's great grief, she did notappear, wishing, no doubt, to try her. But on the Tuesday she confided toher a secret which concerned her (the girl) alone, a secret which she wasnever to divulge*; and then she at last told her what mission it was thatshe entrusted to her: "Go and tell the priests, " she said, "that theymust build a chapel here. " On the Wednesday she frequently murmured theword "Penitence! penitence! penitence!" which the child repeated, afterwards kissing the earth. On the Thursday the Lady said to her: "Go, and drink, and wash at the spring, and eat of the grass that is besideit, " words which the Visionary ended by understanding, when in the depthsof the Grotto a source suddenly sprang up beneath her fingers. And thiswas the miracle of the enchanted fountain. 

 * In a like way, it will be remembered, the apparition at La Salette confided a secret to Melanie and Maximin (see _ante_, note). There can be little doubt that Bernadette was acquainted with the story of the miracle of La Salette. --Trans. 

Then the second week ran its course. The lady did not appear on theFriday, but was punctual on the five following days, repeating hercommands and gazing with a smile at the humble girl whom she had chosento do her bidding, and who, on her side, duly told her beads at eachapparition, kissed the earth, and repaired on her knees to the source, there to drink and wash. At last, on Thursday, March 4, the last day ofthese mystical assignations, the Lady requested more pressingly thanbefore that a chapel might be erected in order that the nations mightcome thither in procession from all parts of the earth. So far, however, in reply to all Bernadette's appeals, she had refused to say who she was;and it was only three weeks later, on Thursday, March 25, that, joiningher hands together, and raising her eyes to Heaven, she said: "I am theImmaculate Conception. " On two other occasions, at somewhat longintervals, April 7 and July 16, she again appeared: the first time toperform the miracle of the lighted taper, that taper above which thechild, plunged in ecstasy, for a long time unconsciously left her hand, without burning it; and the second time to bid Bernadette farewell, tofavour her with a last smile, and a last inclination of the head full ofcharming politeness. This made eighteen apparitions all told; and neveragain did the Lady show herself. 

Whilst Pierre went on with his beautiful, marvellous story, so soothingto the wretched, he evoked for himself a vision of that pitiable, lovableBernadette, whose sufferings had flowered so wonderfully. As a doctor hadroughly expressed it, this girl of fourteen, at a critical period of herlife, already ravaged, too, by asthma, was, after all, simply anexceptional victim of hysteria, afflicted with a degenerate heredity andlapsing into infancy. If there were no violent crises in her case, ifthere were no stiffening of the muscles during her attacks, if sheretained a precise recollection of her dreams, the reason was that hercase was peculiar to herself, and she added, so to say, a new and verycurious form to all the forms of hysteria known at the time. Miraclesonly begin when things cannot be explained; and science, so far, knowsand can explain so little, so infinitely do the phenomena of disease varyaccording to the nature of the patient! But how many shepherdesses therehad been before Bernadette who had seen the Virgin in a similar way, amidst all the same childish nonsense! Was it not always the same story, the Lady clad in light, the secret confided, the spring bursting forth, the mission which had to be fulfilled, the miracles whose enchantmentswould convert the masses? And was not the personal appearance of theVirgin always in accordance with a poor child's dreams--akin to somecoloured figure in a missal, an ideal compounded of traditional beauty, gentleness, and politeness. And the same dreams showed themselves in thenaivete of the means which were to be employed and of the object whichwas to be attained--the deliverance of nations, the building of churches, the processional pilgrimages of the faithful! Then, too, all the wordswhich fell from Heaven resembled one another, calls for penitence, promises of help; and in this respect, in Bernadette's case the only newfeature was that most extraordinary declaration: "I am the ImmaculateConception, " which burst forth--very usefully--as the recognition by theBlessed Virgin herself of the dogma promulgated by the Court of Rome butthree years previously! It was not the Immaculate Virgin who appeared:no, it was the Immaculate Conception, the abstraction itself, the thing, the dogma, so that one might well ask oneself if really the Virgin hadspoken in such a fashion. As for the other words, it was possible thatBernadette had heard them somewhere and stored them up in someunconscious nook of her memory. But these--"I am the ImmaculateConception"--whence had they come as though expressly to fortify adogma--still bitterly discussed--with such prodigious support as thedirect testimony of the Mother conceived without sin? At this thought, Pierre, who was convinced of Bernadette's absolute good faith, whorefused to believe that she had been the instrument of a fraud, began towaver, deeply agitated, feeling his belief in truth totter within him. 

The apparitions, however, had caused intense emotion at Lourdes; crowdsflocked to the spot, miracles began, and those inevitable persecutionsbroke out which ensure the triumph of new religions. Abbe Peyramale, theparish priest of Lourdes, an extremely honest man, with an upright, vigorous mind, was able in all truth to declare that he did not know thischild, that she had not yet been seen at catechism. Where was thepressure, then, where the lesson learnt by heart? There was nothing butthose years of childhood spent at Bartres, the first teachings of AbbeAder, conversations possibly, religious ceremonies in honour of therecently proclaimed dogma, or simply the gift of one of thosecommemorative medals which had been scattered in profusion. Never didAbbe Ader reappear upon the scene, he who had predicted the mission ofthe future Visionary. He was destined to remain apart from Bernadette andher future career, he who, the first, had seen her little soul blossom inhis pious hands. And yet all the unknown forces that had sprung from thatsequestered village, from that nook of greenery where superstition andpoverty of intelligence prevailed, were still making themselves felt, disturbing the brains of men, disseminating the contagion of themysterious. It was remembered that a shepherd of Argeles, speaking of therock of Massabielle, had prophesied that great things would take placethere. Other children, moreover, now fell in ecstasy with their eyesdilated and their limbs quivering with convulsions, but these only sawthe devil. A whirlwind of madness seemed to be passing over the region. An old lady of Lourdes declared that Bernadette was simply a witch andthat she had herself seen the toad's foot in her eye. But for the others, for the thousands of pilgrims who hastened to the spot, she was a saint, and they kissed her garments. Sobs burst forth and frenzy seemed to seizeupon the souls of the beholders, when she fell upon her knees before theGrotto, a lighted taper in her right hand, whilst with the left she toldthe beads of her rosary. She became very pale and quite beautiful, transfigured, so to say. Her features gently ascended in her face, lengthened into an expression of extraordinary beatitude, whilst her eyesfilled with light, and her lips parted as though she were speaking wordswhich could not be heard. And it was quite certain that she had no willof her own left her, penetrated as she was by a dream, possessed by it tosuch a point in the confined, exclusive sphere in which she lived, thatshe continued dreaming it even when awake, and thus accepted it as theonly indisputable reality, prepared to testify to it even at the cost ofher blood, repeating it over and over again, obstinately, stubbornlyclinging to it, and never varying in the details she gave. She did notlie, for she did not know, could not and would not desire anything apartfrom it. 

Forgetful of the flight of time, Pierre was now sketching a charmingpicture of old Lourdes, that pious little town, slumbering at the foot ofthe Pyrenees. The castle, perched on a rock at the point of intersectionof the seven valleys of Lavedan, had formerly been the key of themountain districts. But, in Bernadette's time, it had become a meredismantled, ruined pile, at the entrance of a road leading nowhere. Modern life found its march stayed by a formidable rampart of lofty, snow-capped peaks, and only the trans-Pyrenean railway--had it beenconstructed--could have established an active circulation of social lifein that sequestered nook where human existence stagnated like dead water. Forgotten, therefore, Lourdes remained slumbering, happy and sluggishamidst its old-time peacefulness, with its narrow, pebble-paved streetsand its bleak houses with dressings of marble. The old roofs were stillall massed on the eastern side of the castle; the Rue de la Grotte, thencalled the Rue du Bois, was but a deserted and often impassable road; nohouses stretched down to the Gave as now, and the scum-laden watersrolled through a perfect solitude of pollard willows and tall grass. Onweek-days but few people passed across the Place du Marcadal, such ashousewives hastening on errands, and petty cits airing their leisurehours; and you had to wait till Sundays or fair days to find theinhabitants rigged out in their best clothes and assembled on the ChampCommun, in company with the crowd of graziers who had come down from thedistant tablelands with their cattle. During the season when peopleresort to the Pyrenean-waters, the passage of the visitors to Cauteretsand Bagneres also brought some animation; _diligences_ passed through thetown twice a day, but they came from Pau by a wretched road, and had toford the Lapaca, which often overflowed its banks. Then climbing thesteep ascent of the Rue Basse, they skirted the terrace of the church, which was shaded by large elms. And what soft peacefulness prevailed inand around that old semi-Spanish church, full of ancient carvings, columns, screens, and statues, peopled with visionary patches of gildingand painted flesh, which time had mellowed and which you faintlydiscerned as by the light of mystical lamps! The whole population camethere to worship, to fill their eyes with the dream of the mysterious. There were no unbelievers, the inhabitants of Lourdes were a people ofprimitive faith; each corporation marched behind the banner of its saint, brotherhoods of all kinds united the entire town, on festival mornings, in one large Christian family. And, as with some exquisite flower thathas grown in the soil of its choice, great purity of life reigned there. There was not even a resort of debauchery for young men to wreck theirlives, and the girls, one and all, grew up with the perfume and beauty ofinnocence, under the eyes of the Blessed Virgin, Tower of Ivory and Seatof Wisdom. 

And how well one could understand that Bernadette, born in that holysoil, should flower in it, like one of nature's roses budding in thewayside bushes! She was indeed the very florescence of that region ofancient belief and rectitude; she would certainly not have sproutedelsewhere; she could only appear and develop there, amidst that belatedrace, amidst the slumberous peacefulness of a childlike people, under themoral discipline of religion. And what intense love at once burst forthall around her! What blind confidence was displayed in her mission, whatimmense consolation and hope came to human hearts on the very morrow ofthe first miracles! A long cry of relief had greeted the cure of oldBourriette recovering his sight, and of little Justin Bouhohorts comingto life again in the icy water of the spring. At last, then, the BlessedVirgin was intervening in favour of those who despaired, forcing thatunkind mother, Nature, to be just and charitable. This was divineomnipotence returning to reign on earth, sweeping the laws of the worldaside in order to work the happiness of the suffering and the poor. Themiracles multiplied, blazed forth, from day to day more and moreextraordinary, like unimpeachable proof of Bernadette's veracity. And shewas, indeed, the rose of the divine garden, whose deeds shed perfume, therose who beholds all the other flowers of grace and salvation spring intobeing around her. 

Pierre had reached this point of his story, and was again enumerating themiracles, on the point of recounting the prodigious triumph of theGrotto, when Sister Hyacinthe, awaking with a start from the ecstasy intowhich the narrative had plunged her, hastily rose to her feet. "Really, really, " said she, "there is no sense in it. It will soon be eleveno'clock. "

This was true. They had left Morceux behind them, and would now soon beat Mont de Marsan. So Sister Hyacinthe clapped her hands once more, andadded: "Silence, my children, silence!"

This time they did not dare to rebel, for they felt she was in the right;they were unreasonable. But how greatly they regretted not hearing thecontinuation, how vexed they were that the story should cease when onlyhalf told! The ten women in the farther compartment even let a murmur ofdisappointment escape them; whilst the sick, their faces stilloutstretched, their dilated eyes gazing upon the light of hope, seemed tobe yet listening. Those miracles which ever and ever returned to theirminds and filled them with unlimited, haunting, supernatural joy. 

"And don't let me hear anyone breathe, even, " added Sister Hyacinthegaily, "or otherwise I shall impose penance on you. "

Madame de Jonquiere laughed good-naturedly. "You must obey, my children, "she said; "be good and get to sleep, so that you may have strength topray at the Grotto to-morrow with all your hearts. "

Then silence fell, nobody spoke any further; and the only sounds werethose of the rumbling of the wheels and the jolting of the train as itwas carried along at full speed through the black night. 

Pierre, however, was unable to sleep. Beside him, M. De Guersaint wasalready snoring lightly, looking very happy despite the hardness of hisseat. For a time the young priest saw Marie's eyes wide open, still fullof all the radiance of the marvels that he had related. For a long whileshe kept them ardently fixed upon his own, but at last closed them, andthen he knew not whether she was sleeping, or with eyelids simply closedwas living the everlasting miracle over again. Some of the sufferers weredreaming aloud, giving vent to bursts of laughter which unconscious moansinterrupted. Perhaps they beheld the Archangels opening their flesh towrest their diseases from them. Others, restless with insomnia, turnedover and over, stifling their sobs and gazing fixedly into the darkness. And, with a shudder born of all the mystery he had evoked, Pierre, distracted, no longer master of himself in that delirious sphere offraternal suffering, ended by hating his very mind, and, drawn into closecommunion with all those humble folks, sought to believe like them. Whatcould be the use of that physiological inquiry into Bernadette's case, sofull of gaps and intricacies? Why should he not accept her as a messengerfrom the spheres beyond, as one of the elect chosen for the divinemystery? Doctors were but ignorant men with rough and brutal hands, andit would be so delightful to fall asleep in childlike faith, in theenchanted gardens of the impossible. And for a moment indeed hesurrendered himself, experiencing a delightful feeling of comfort, nolonger seeking to explain anything, but accepting the Visionary with hersumptuous _cortege_ of miracles, and relying on God to think anddetermine for him. Then he looked out through the window, which they didnot dare to open on account of the consumptive patients, and beheld theimmeasurable night which enwrapped the country across which the train wasfleeing. The storm must have burst forth there; the sky was now of anadmirable nocturnal purity, as though cleansed by the masses of fallenwater. Large stars shone out in the dark velvet, alone illumining, withtheir mysterious gleams, the silent, refreshed fields, which incessantlydisplayed only the black solitude of slumber. And across the Landes, through the valleys, between the hills, that carriage of wretchedness andsuffering rolled on and on, over-heated, pestilential, rueful, andwailing, amidst the serenity of the august night, so lovely and so mild. 

They had passed Riscle at one in the morning. Between the jolting, thepainful, the hallucinatory silence still continued. At two o'clock, asthey reached Vic-de-Bigorre, low moans were heard; the bad state of theline, with the unbearable spreading tendency of the train's motion, wassorely shaking the patients. It was only at Tarbes, at half-past two, that silence was at length broken, and that morning prayers were said, though black night still reigned around them. There came first the"Pater, " and then the "Ave, " the "Credo, " and the supplication to God togrant them the happiness of a glorious day. 

"O God, vouchsafe me sufficient strength that I may avoid all that isevil, do all that is good, and suffer uncomplainingly every pain. "

And now there was to be no further stoppage until they reached Lourdes. Barely three more quarters of an hour, and Lourdes, with all its vasthopes, would blaze forth in the midst of that night, so long and cruel. Their painful awakening was enfevered by the thought; a final agitationarose amidst the morning discomfort, as the abominable sufferings beganafresh. 

Sister Hyacinthe, however, was especially anxious about the strange man, whose sweat-covered face she had been continually wiping. He had so farmanaged to keep alive, she watching him without a pause, never havingonce closed her eyes, but unremittingly listening to his faint breathingwith the stubborn desire to take him to the holy Grotto before he died. 

All at once, however, she felt frightened; and addressing Madame deJonquiere, she hastily exclaimed, "Pray pass me the vinegar bottle atonce--I can no longer hear him breathe. "

For an instant, indeed, the man's faint breathing had ceased. His eyeswere still closed, his lips parted; he could not have been paler, he hadan ashen hue, and was cold. And the carriage was rolling along with itsceaseless rattle of coupling-irons; the speed of the train seemed even tohave increased. 

"I will rub his temples, " resumed Sister Hyacinthe. "Help me, do!"

But, at a more violent jolt of the train, the man suddenly fell from theseat, face downward. 

"Ah! _mon Dieu_, help me, pick him up!"

They picked him up, and found him dead. And they had to seat him in hiscorner again, with his back resting against the woodwork. He remainedthere erect, his torso stiffened, and his head wagging slightly at eachsuccessive jolt. Thus the train continued carrying him along, with thesame thundering noise of wheels, while the engine, well pleased, nodoubt, to be reaching its destination, began whistling shrilly, givingvent to quite a flourish of delirious joy as it sped through the calmnight. 

And then came the last and seemingly endless half-hour of the journey, incompany with that wretched corpse. Two big tears had rolled down SisterHyacinthe's cheeks, and with her hands joined she had begun to pray. Thewhole carriage shuddered with terror at sight of that terrible companionwho was being taken, too late alas! to the Blessed Virgin. 

Hope, however, proved stronger than sorrow or pain, and although all thesufferings there assembled awoke and grew again, irritated byoverwhelming weariness, a song of joy nevertheless proclaimed thesufferers' triumphal entry into the Land of Miracles. Amidst the tearswhich their pains drew from them, the exasperated and howling sick beganto chant the "Ave maris Stella" with a growing clamour in whichlamentation finally turned into cries of hope. 

Marie had again taken Pierre's hand between her little feverish fingers. "Oh, _mon Dieu!_" said she, "to think that poor man is dead, and I fearedso much that it was I who would die before arriving. And we arethere--there at last!"

The priest was trembling with intense emotion. "It means that you are tobe cured, Marie, " he replied, "and that I myself shall be cured if youpray for me--"

The engine was now whistling in a yet louder key in the depths of thebluish darkness. They were nearing their destination. The lights ofLourdes already shone out on the horizon. Then the whole train again sanga canticle--the rhymed story of Bernadette, that endless ballad of sixtimes ten couplets, in which the Angelic Salutation ever returns as arefrain, all besetting and distracting, opening to the human mind theportals of the heaven of ecstasy:--

 "It was the hour for ev'ning pray'r; Soft bells chimed on the chilly air. Ave, ave, ave Maria!

 "The maid stood on the torrent's bank, A breeze arose, then swiftly sank. Ave, ave, ave Maria!

 "And she beheld, e'en as it fell, The Virgin on Massabielle. Ave, ave, ave Maria!

 "All white appeared the Lady chaste, A zone of Heaven round her waist. Ave, ave, ave Maria!

 "Two golden roses, pure and sweet, Bloomed brightly on her naked feet. Ave, ave, ave Maria!

 "Upon her arm, so white and round, Her chaplet's milky pearls were wound. Ave, ave, ave Maria!

 "The maiden prayed till, from her eyes, The vision sped to Paradise. Ave, ave, ave Maria!"

THE SECOND DAY

I. THE TRAIN ARRIVES

IT was twenty minutes past three by the clock of the Lourdes railwaystation, the dial of which was illumined by a reflector. Under theslanting roof sheltering the platform, a hundred yards or so in length, some shadowy forms went to and fro, resignedly waiting. Only a red signallight peeped out of the black countryside, far away. 

Two of the promenaders suddenly halted. The taller of them, a Father ofthe Assumption, none other indeed than the Reverend Father Fourcade, director of the national pilgrimage, who had reached Lourdes on theprevious day, was a man of sixty, looking superb in his black cloak withits large hood. His fine head, with its clear, domineering eyes and thickgrizzly beard, was the head of a general whom an intelligentdetermination to conquer inflames. In consequence, however, of a suddenattack of gout he slightly dragged one of his legs, and was leaning onthe shoulder of his companion, Dr. Bonamy, the practitioner attached tothe Miracle Verification Office, a short, thick-set man, with asquare-shaped, clean-shaven face, which had dull, blurred eyes and atranquil cast of features. 

Father Fourcade had stopped to question the station-master whom heperceived running out of his office. "Will the white train be very late, monsieur?" he asked. 

"No, your reverence. It hasn't lost more than ten minutes; it will behere at the half-hour. It's the Bayonne train which worries me; it oughtto have passed through already. "

So saying, he ran off to give an order; but soon came back again, hisslim, nervous figure displaying marked signs of agitation. He lived, indeed, in a state of high fever throughout the period of the greatpilgrimages. Apart from the usual service, he that day expected eighteentrains, containing more than fifteen thousand passengers. The grey andthe blue trains which had started from Paris the first had alreadyarrived at the regulation hour. But the delay in the arrival of the whitetrain was very troublesome, the more so as the Bayonne express--whichpassed over the same rails--had not yet been signalled. It was easy tounderstand, therefore, what incessant watchfulness was necessary, not asecond passing without the entire staff of the station being called uponto exercise its vigilance. 

"In ten minutes, then?" repeated Father Fourcade. 

"Yes, in ten minutes, unless I'm obliged to close the line!" cried thestation-master as he hastened into the telegraph office. 

Father Fourcade and the doctor slowly resumed their promenade. The thingwhich astonished them was that no serious accident had ever happened inthe midst of such a fearful scramble. In past times, especially, the mostterrible disorder had prevailed. Father Fourcade complacently recalledthe first pilgrimage which he had organised and led, in 1875; theterrible endless journey without pillows or mattresses, the patientsexhausted, half dead, with no means of reviving them at hand; and thenthe arrival at Lourdes, the train evacuated in confusion, no _materiel_in readiness, no straps, nor stretchers, nor carts. But now there was apowerful organisation; a hospital awaited the sick, who were no longerreduced to lying upon straw in sheds. What a shock for those unhappyones! What force of will in the man of faith who led them to the scene ofmiracles! The reverend Father smiled gently at the thought of the workwhich he had accomplished. 

Then, still leaning on the doctor's shoulder, he began to question him:"How many pilgrims did you have last year?" he asked. 

"About two hundred thousand. That is still the average. In the year ofthe Coronation of the Virgin the figure rose to five hundred thousand. But to bring that about an exceptional occasion was needed with a greateffort of propaganda. Such vast masses cannot be collected together everyday. "

A pause followed, and then Father Fourcade murmured: "No doubt. Still theblessing of Heaven attends our endeavours; our work thrives more andmore. We have collected more than two hundred thousand francs indonations for this journey, and God will be with us, there will be manycures for you to proclaim to-morrow, I am sure of it. " Then, breakingoff, he inquired: "Has not Father Dargeles come here?"

Dr. Bonamy waved his hand as though to say that he did not know. FatherDargeles was the editor of the "Journal de la Grotte. " He belonged to theOrder of the Fathers of the Immaculate Conception whom the Bishop hadinstalled at Lourdes and who were the absolute masters there; though, when the Fathers of the Assumption came to the town with the nationalpilgrimage from Paris, which crowds of faithful Catholics from Cambrai, Arras, Chartres, Troyes, Rheims, Sens, Orleans, Blois, and Poitiersjoined, they evinced a kind of affectation in disappearing from thescene. Their omnipotence was no longer felt either at the Grotto or atthe Basilica; they seemed to surrender every key together with everyresponsibility. Their superior, Father Capdebarthe, a tall, peasant-likeman, with a knotty frame, a big head which looked as if it had beenfashioned with a bill-hook, and a worn face which retained a ruddymournful reflection of the soil, did not even show himself. Of the wholecommunity you only saw little, insinuating Father Dargeles; but he wasmet everywhere, incessantly on the look-out for paragraphs for hisnewspaper. At the same time, however, although the Fathers of theImmaculate Conception disappeared in this fashion, it could be divinedthat they were behind the vast stage, like a hidden sovereign power, coining money and toiling without a pause to increase the triumphantprosperity of their business. Indeed, they turned even their humility toaccount. 

"It's true that we have had to get up early--two in the morning, " resumedFather Fourcade gaily. "But I wished to be here. What would my poorchildren have said, indeed, if I had not come?"

He was alluding to the sick pilgrims, those who were so much flesh formiracle-working; and it was a fact that he had never missed coming to thestation, no matter what the hour, to meet that woeful white train, thattrain which brought such grievous suffering with it. 

"Five-and-twenty minutes past three--only another five minutes now, "exclaimed Dr. Bonamy repressing a yawn as he glanced at the clock; for, despite his obsequious air, he was at bottom very much annoyed at havinghad to get out of bed so early. However, he continued his slow promenadewith Father Fourcade along that platform which resembled a covered walk, pacing up and down in the dense night which the gas jets here and thereillumined with patches of yellow light. Little parties, dimly outlined, composed of priests and gentlemen in frock-coats, with a solitary officerof dragoons, went to and fro incessantly, talking together the while indiscreet murmuring tones. Other people, seated on benches, ranged alongthe station wall, were also chatting or putting their patience to proofwith their glances wandering away into the black stretch of countrybefore them. The doorways of the offices and waiting-rooms, which werebrilliantly lighted, looked like great holes in the darkness, and all wasflaring in the refreshment-room, where you could see the marble tablesand the counter laden with bottles and glasses and baskets of bread andfruit. 

On the right hand, beyond the roofing of the platform, there was aconfused swarming of people. There was here a goods gate, by which thesick were taken out of the station, and a mass of stretchers, litters, and hand-carts, with piles of pillows and mattresses, obstructed thebroad walk. Three parties of bearers were also assembled here, persons ofwell-nigh every class, but more particularly young men of good society, all wearing red, orange-tipped crosses and straps of yellow leather. Manyof them, too, had adopted the Bearnese cap, the convenient head-gear ofthe region; and a few, clad as though they were bound on some distantexpedition, displayed wonderful gaiters reaching to their knees. Somewere smoking, whilst others, installed in their little vehicles, slept orread newspapers by the light of the neighbouring gas jets. One group, standing apart, were discussing some service question. 

Suddenly, however, one and all began to salute. A paternal-looking man, with a heavy but good-natured face, lighted by large blue eyes, likethose of a credulous child, was approaching. It was Baron Suire, thePresident of the Hospitality of Our Lady of Salvation. He possessed agreat fortune and occupied a high position at Toulouse. 

"Where is Berthaud?" he inquired of one bearer after another, with a busyair. "Where is Berthaud? I must speak to him. "

The others answered, volunteering contradictory information. Berthaud wastheir superintendent, and whilst some said that they had seen him withthe Reverend Father Fourcade, others affirmed that he must be in thecourtyard of the station inspecting the ambulance vehicles. And theythereupon offered to go and fetch him. 

"No, no, thank you, " replied the Baron. "I shall manage to find himmyself. "

Whilst this was happening, Berthaud, who had just seated himself on abench at the other end of the station, was talking with his young friend, Gerard de Peyrelongue, by way of occupation pending the arrival of thetrain. The superintendent of the bearers was a man of forty, with abroad, regular-featured, handsome face and carefully trimmed whiskers ofa lawyer-like pattern. Belonging to a militant Legitimist family andholding extremely reactionary opinions, he had been Procureur de laRepublique (public prosecutor) in a town of the south of France from thetime of the parliamentary revolution of the twenty-fourth of May* untilthat of the decree of the Religious Communities, ** when he had resignedhis post in a blusterous fashion, by addressing an insulting letter tothe Minister of Justice. And he had never since laid down his arms, buthad joined the Hospitality of Our Lady of Salvation as a sort of protest, repairing year after year to Lourdes in order to "demonstrate"; convincedas he was that the pilgrimages were both disagreeable and hurtful to theRepublic, and that God alone could re-establish the Monarchy by one ofthose miracles which He worked so lavishly at the Grotto. Despite allthis, however, Berthaud possessed no small amount of good sense, andbeing of a gay disposition, displayed a kind of jovial charity towardsthe poor sufferers whose transport he had to provide for during the threedays that the national pilgrimage remained at Lourdes. 

 * The parliamentary revolution of May, 1873, by which M. Thiers was overthrown and Marshal MacMahon installed in his place with the object of restoring the Monarchy in France. --Trans. 

 ** M. Grevy's decree by which the Jesuits were expelled. --Trans. 

"And so, my dear Gerard, " he said to the young man seated beside him, "your marriage is really to come off this year?"

"Why yes, if I can find such a wife as I want, " replied the other. "Come, cousin, give me some good advice. "

Gerard de Peyrelongue, a short, thin, carroty young man, with apronounced nose and prominent cheek-bones, belonged to Tarbes, where hisfather and mother had lately died, leaving him at the utmost some sevenor eight thousand francs a year. Extremely ambitious, he had been unableto find such a wife as he desired in his native province--awell-connected young woman capable of helping him to push both forwardand upward in the world; and so he had joined the Hospitality, and betookhimself every summer to Lourdes, in the vague hope that amidst the massof believers, the torrent of devout mammas and daughters which flowedthither, he might find the family whose help he needed to enable him tomake his way in this terrestrial sphere. However, he remained inperplexity, for if, on the one hand, he already had several young ladiesin view, on the other, none of them completely satisfied him. 

"Eh, cousin? You will advise me, won't you?" he said to Berthaud. "Youare a man of experience. There is Mademoiselle Lemercier who comes herewith her aunt. She is very rich; according to what is said she has over amillion francs. But she doesn't belong to our set, and besides I thinkher a bit of a madcap. "

Berthaud nodded. "I told you so; if I were you I should choose littleRaymonde, Mademoiselle de Jonquiere. "

"But she hasn't a copper!"

"That's true--she has barely enough to pay for her board. But she isfairly good-looking, she has been well brought up, and she has noextravagant tastes. That is the really important point, for what is theuse of marrying a rich girl if she squanders the dowry she brings you?Besides, I know Madame and Mademoiselle de Jonquiere very well, I meetthem all through the winter in the most influential drawing-rooms ofParis. And, finally, don't forget the girl's uncle, the diplomatist, whohas had the painful courage to remain in the service of the Republic. Hewill be able to do whatever he pleases for his niece's husband. "

For a moment Gerard seemed shaken, and then he relapsed into perplexity. "But she hasn't a copper, " he said, "no, not a copper. It's too stiff. Iam quite willing to think it over, but it really frightens me too much. "

This time Berthaud burst into a frank laugh. "Come, you are ambitious, soyou must be daring. I tell you that it means the secretaryship of anembassy before two years are over. By the way, Madame and Mademoiselle deJonquiere are in the white train which we are waiting for. Make up yourmind and pay your court at once. "

"No, no! Later on. I want to think it over. "

At this moment they were interrupted, for Baron Suire, who had alreadyonce gone by without perceiving them, so completely did the darknessenshroud them in that retired corner, had just recognised the ex-publicprosecutor's good-natured laugh. And, thereupon, with the volubility of aman whose head is easily unhinged, he gave him several orders respectingthe vehicles and the transport service, deploring the circumstance thatit would be impossible to conduct the patients to the Grotto immediatelyon their arrival, as it was yet so extremely early. It had therefore beendecided that they should in the first instance be taken to the Hospitalof Our Lady of Dolours, where they would be able to rest awhile aftertheir trying journey. 

Whilst the Baron and the superintendent were thus settling what measuresshould be adopted, Gerard shook hands with a priest who had sat downbeside him. This was the Abbe des Hermoises, who was barelyeight-and-thirty years of age and had a superb head--such a head as onemight expect to find on the shoulders of a worldly priest. With his hairwell combed, and his person perfumed, he was not unnaturally a greatfavourite among women. Very amiable and distinguished in his manners, hedid not come to Lourdes in any official capacity, but simply for hispleasure, as so many other people did; and the bright, sparkling smile ofa sceptic above all idolatry gleamed in the depths of his fine eyes. Hecertainly believed, and bowed to superior decisions; but the Church--theHoly See--had not pronounced itself with regard to the miracles; and heseemed quite ready to dispute their authenticity. Having lived at Tarbeshe was already acquainted with Gerard. 

"Ah!" he said to him, "how impressive it is--isn't it?--this waiting forthe trains in the middle of the night! I have come to meet a lady--one ofmy former Paris penitents--but I don't know what train she will come by. Still, as you see, I stop on, for it all interests me so much. "

Then another priest, an old country priest, having come to sit down onthe same bench, the Abbe considerately began talking to him, speaking ofthe beauty of the Lourdes district and of the theatrical effect whichwould take place by-and-by when the sun rose and the mountains appeared. 

However, there was again a sudden alert, and the station-master ran alongshouting orders. Removing his hand from Dr. Bonamy's shoulder, FatherFourcade, despite his gouty leg, hastily drew near. 

"Oh! it's that Bayonne express which is so late, " answered thestation-master in reply to the questions addressed to him. "I should likesome information about it; I'm not at ease. "

At this moment the telegraph bells rang out and a porter rushed away intothe darkness swinging a lantern, whilst a distant signal began to work. Thereupon the station-master resumed: "Ah! this time it's the whitetrain. Let us hope we shall have time to get the sick people out beforethe express passes. "

He started off once more and disappeared. Berthaud meanwhile called toGerard, who was at the head of a squad of bearers, and they both madehaste to join their men, into whom Baron Suire was already instillingactivity. The bearers flocked to the spot from all sides, and settingthemselves in motion began dragging their little vehicles across thelines to the platform at which the white train would come in--an unroofedplatform plunged in darkness. A mass of pillows, mattresses, stretchers, and litters was soon waiting there, whilst Father Fourcade, Dr. Bonamy, the priests, the gentlemen, and the officer of dragoons in their turncrossed over in order to witness the removal of the ailing pilgrims. Allthat they could as yet see, far away in the depths of the black country, was the lantern in front of the engine, looking like a red star whichgrew larger and larger. Strident whistles pierced the night, thensuddenly ceased, and you only heard the panting of the steam and the dullroar of the wheels gradually slackening their speed. Then the canticlebecame distinctly audible, the song of Bernadette with the ever-recurring"Aves" of its refrain, which the whole train was chanting in chorus. Andat last this train of suffering and faith, this moaning, singing train, thus making its entry into Lourdes, drew up in the station. 

The carriage doors were at once opened, the whole throng of healthypilgrims, and of ailing ones able to walk, alighted, and streamed overthe platform. The few gas lamps cast but a feeble light on the crowd ofpoverty-stricken beings clad in faded garments, and encumbered with allsorts of parcels, baskets, valises, and boxes. And amidst all thejostling of this scared flock, which did not know in which direction toturn to find its way out of the station, loud exclamations were heard, the shouts of people calling relatives whom they had lost, mingled withthe embraces of others whom relatives or friends had come to meet. Onewoman declared with beatifical satisfaction, "I have slept well. " Apriest went off carrying his travelling-bag, after wishing a crippledlady "good luck!" Most of them had the bewildered, weary, yet joyousappearance of people whom an excursion train sets down at some unknownstation. And such became the scramble and the confusion in the darkness, that they did not hear the railway _employes_ who grew quite hoarsethrough shouting, "This way! this way!" in their eagerness to clear theplatform as soon as possible. 

Sister Hyacinthe had nimbly alighted from her compartment, leaving thedead man in the charge of Sister Claire des Anges; and, losing her headsomewhat, she ran off to the cantine van in the idea that Ferrand wouldbe able to help her. Fortunately she found Father Fourcade in front ofthe van and acquainted him with the fatality in a low voice. Repressing agesture of annoyance, he thereupon called Baron Suire, who was passing, and began whispering in his ear. The muttering lasted for a few seconds, and then the Baron rushed off, and clove his way through the crowd withtwo bearers carrying a covered litter. In this the man was removed fromthe carriage as though he were a patient who had simply fainted, the mobof pilgrims paying no further attention to him amidst all the emotion oftheir arrival. Preceded by the Baron, the bearers carried the corpse intoa goods office, where they provisionally lodged it behind some barrels;one of them, a fair-haired little fellow, a general's son, remaining towatch over it. 

Meanwhile, after begging Ferrand and Sister Saint-Francois to go and waitfor her in the courtyard of the station, near the reserved vehicle whichwas to take them to the Hospital of Our Lady of Dolours, Sister Hyacinthereturned to the railway carriage and talked of helping her patients toalight before going away. But Marie would not let her touch her. "No, no!" said the girl, "do not trouble about me, Sister. I shall remain herethe last. My father and Abbe Froment have gone to the van to fetch thewheels; I am waiting for their return; they know how to fix them, andthey will take me away all right, you may be sure of it. "

In the same way M. Sabathier and Brother Isidore did not desire to bemoved until the crowd had decreased. Madame de Jonquiere, who had takencharge of La Grivotte, also promised to see to Madame Vetu's removal inan ambulance vehicle. And thereupon Sister Hyacinthe decided that shewould go off at once so as to get everything ready at the hospital. Moreover, she took with her both little Sophie Couteau and Elise Rouquet, whose face she very carefully wrapped up. Madame Maze preceded them, while Madame Vincent, carrying her little girl, who was unconscious andquite white, struggled through the crowd, possessed by the fixed idea ofrunning off as soon as possible and depositing the child in the Grotto atthe feet of the Blessed Virgin. 

The mob was now pressing towards the doorway by which passengers left thestation, and to facilitate the egress of all these people it at lastbecame necessary to open the luggage gates. The _employes_, at a loss howto take the tickets, held out their caps, which a downpour of the littlecards speedily filled. And in the courtyard, a large square courtyard, skirted on three sides by the low buildings of the station, the mostextraordinary uproar prevailed amongst all the vehicles of divers kindswhich were there jumbled together. The hotel omnibuses, backed againstthe curb of the footway, displayed the most sacred names on their largeboards--Jesus and Mary, St. Michel, the Rosary, and the Sacred Heart. Then there were ambulance vehicles, landaus, cabriolets, brakes, andlittle donkey carts, all entangled together, with their drivers shouting, swearing, and cracking their whips--the tumult being apparently increasedby the obscurity in which the lanterns set brilliant patches of light. 

Rain had fallen heavily a few hours previously. Liquid mud splashed upunder the hoofs of the horses; the foot passengers sank into it to theirankles. M. Vigneron, whom Madame Vigneron and Madame Chaise werefollowing in a state of distraction, raised Gustave, in order to placehim in the omnibus from the Hotel of the Apparitions, after which hehimself and the ladies climbed into the vehicle. Madame Maze, shudderingslightly, like a delicate tabby who fears to dirty the tips of her paws, made a sign to the driver of an old brougham, got into it, and quicklydrove away, after giving as address the Convent of the Blue Sisters. Andat last Sister Hyacinthe was able to install herself with Elise Rouquetand Sophie Couteau in a large _char-a-bancs_, in which Ferrand andSisters Saint-Francois and Claire des Anges were already seated. Thedrivers whipped up their spirited little horses, and the vehicles wentoff at a breakneck pace, amidst the shouts of those left behind, and thesplashing of the mire. 

In presence of that rushing torrent, Madame Vincent, with her dear littleburden in her arms, hesitated to cross over. Bursts of laughter rang outaround her every now and then. Oh! what a filthy mess! And at sight ofall the mud, the women caught up their skirts before attempting to passthrough it. At last, when the courtyard had somewhat emptied, MadameVincent herself ventured on her way, all terror lest the mire should makeher fall in that black darkness. Then, on reaching a downhill road, shenoticed there a number of women of the locality who were on the watch, offering furnished rooms, bed and board, according to the state of thepilgrim's purse. 

"Which is the way to the Grotto, madame, if you please?" asked MadameVincent, addressing one old woman of the party. 

Instead of answering the question, however, the other offered her a cheaproom. "You won't find anything in the hotels, " said she, "for they areall full. Perhaps you will be able to eat there, but you certainly won'tfind a closet even to sleep in. "

Eat, sleep, indeed! Had Madame Vincent any thought of such things; shewho had left Paris with thirty sous in her pocket, all that remained toher after the expenses she had been put to!

"The way to the Grotto, if you please, madame?" she repeated. 

Among the women who were thus touting for lodgers, there was a tall, well-built girl, dressed like a superior servant, and looking very clean, with carefully tended hands. She glanced at Madame Vincent and slightlyshrugged her shoulders. And then, seeing a broad-chested priest with ared face go by, she rushed after him, offered him a furnished room, andcontinued following him, whispering in his ear. 

Another girl, however, at last took pity on Madame Vincent and said toher: "Here, go down this road, and when you get to the bottom, turn tothe right and you will reach the Grotto. "

Meanwhile, the confusion inside the station continued. The healthypilgrims, and those of the sick who retained the use of their legs couldgo off, thus, in some measure, clearing the platform; but the others, themore grievously stricken sufferers whom it was difficult to get out ofthe carriages and remove to the hospital, remained waiting. The bearersseemed to become quite bewildered, rushing madly hither and thither withtheir litters and vehicles, not knowing at what end to set about theprofusion of work which lay before them. 

As Berthaud, followed by Gerard, went along the platform, gesticulating, he noticed two ladies and a girl who were standing under a gas jet and toall appearance waiting. In the girl he recognised Raymonde, and with asign of the hand he at once stopped his companion. "Ah! mademoiselle, "said he, "how pleased I am to see you! Is Madame de Jonquiere quite well?You have made a good journey, I hope?" Then, without a pause, he added:"This is my friend, Monsieur Gerard de Peyrelongue. "

Raymonde gazed fixedly at the young man with her clear, smiling eyes. "Oh! I already have the pleasure of being slightly acquainted with thisgentleman, " she said. "We have previously met one another at Lourdes. "

Thereupon Gerard, who thought that his cousin Berthaud was conductingmatters too quickly, and was quite resolved that he would not enter intoany hasty engagement, contented himself with bowing in a ceremonious way. 

"We are waiting for mamma, " resumed Raymonde. "She is extremely busy; shehas to see after some pilgrims who are very ill. "

At this, little Madame Desagneaux, with her pretty, light wavy-hairedhead, began to say that it served Madame de Jonquiere right for refusingher services. She herself was stamping with impatience, eager to join inthe work and make herself useful, whilst Madame Volmar, silent, shrinkingback as though taking no interest in it at all, seemed simply desirous ofpenetrating the darkness, as though, indeed, she were seeking somebodywith those magnificent eyes of hers, usually bedimmed, but now shiningout like brasiers. 

Just then, however, they were all pushed back. Madame Dieulafay was beingremoved from her first-class compartment, and Madame Desagneaux could notrestrain an exclamation of pity. "Ah! the poor woman!"

There could in fact be no more distressing sight than this young woman, encompassed by luxury, covered with lace in her species of coffin, sowasted that she seemed to be a mere human shred, deposited on thatplatform till it could be taken away. Her husband and her sister, bothvery elegant and very sad, remained standing near her, whilst aman-servant and maid ran off with the valises to ascertain if thecarriage which had been ordered by telegram was in the courtyard. AbbeJudaine also helped the sufferer; and when two men at last took her up hebent over her and wished her _au revoir_, adding some kind words whichshe did not seem to hear. Then as he watched her removal, he resumed, addressing himself to Berthaud, whom he knew: "Ah! the poor people, ifthey could only purchase their dear sufferer's cure. I told them thatprayer was the most precious thing in the Blessed Virgin's eyes, and Ihope that I have myself prayed fervently enough to obtain the compassionof Heaven. Nevertheless, they have brought a magnificent gift, a goldenlantern for the Basilica, a perfect marvel, adorned with precious stones. May the Immaculate Virgin deign to smile upon it!"

In this way a great many offerings were brought by the pilgrims. Somehuge bouquets of flowers had just gone by, together with a kind of triplecrown of roses, mounted on a wooden stand. And the old priest explainedthat before leaving the station he wished to secure a banner, the gift ofthe beautiful Madame Jousseur, Madame Dieulafay's sister. 

Madame de Jonquiere was at last approaching, however, and on perceivingBerthaud and Gerard she exclaimed: "Pray do go to that carriage, gentlemen--that one, there! We want some men very badly. There are threeor four sick persons to be taken out. I am in despair; I can do nothingmyself. "

Gerard ran off after bowing to Raymonde, whilst Berthaud advised Madamede Jonquiere to leave the station with her daughter and those ladiesinstead of remaining on the platform. Her presence was in nowisenecessary, he said; he would undertake everything, and within threequarters of an hour she would find her patients in her ward at thehospital. She ended by giving way, and took a conveyance in company withRaymonde and Madame Desagneaux. As for Madame Volmar, she had at the lastmoment disappeared, as though seized with a sudden fit of impatience. Theothers fancied that they had seen her approach a strange gentleman, withthe object no doubt of making some inquiry of him. However, they would ofcourse find her at the hospital. 

Berthaud joined Gerard again just as the young man, assisted by twofellow-bearers, was endeavouring to remove M. Sabathier from thecarriage. It was a difficult task, for he was very stout and very heavy, and they began to think that he would never pass through the doorway ofthe compartment. However, as he had been got in they ought to be able toget him out; and indeed when two other bearers had entered the carriagefrom the other side, they were at last able to deposit him on theplatform. 

The dawn was now appearing, a faint pale dawn; and the platform presentedthe woeful appearance of an improvised hospital. La Grivotte, who hadlost consciousness, lay there on a mattress pending her removal in alitter; whilst Madame Vetu had been seated against a lamp-post, sufferingso severely from another attack of her ailment that they scarcely daredto touch her. Some hospitallers, whose hands were gloved, were withdifficulty wheeling their little vehicles in which were poor, sordid-looking women with old baskets at their feet. Others, withstretchers on which lay the stiffened, woeful bodies of silent sufferers, whose eyes gleamed with anguish, found themselves unable to pass; butsome of the infirm pilgrims, some unfortunate cripples, contrived to slipthrough the ranks, among them a young priest who was lame, and a littlehumpbacked boy, one of whose legs had been amputated, and who, lookinglike a gnome, managed to drag himself with his crutches from group togroup. Then there was quite a block around a man who was bent in half, twisted by paralysis to such a point that he had to be carried on a chairwith his head and feet hanging downward. It seemed as though hours wouldbe required to clear the platform. 

The dismay therefore reached a climax when the station-master suddenlyrushed up shouting: "The Bayonne express is signalled. Make haste! makehaste! You have only three minutes left!"

Father Fourcade, who had remained in the midst of the throng, leaning onDoctor Bonamy's arm, and gaily encouraging the more stricken of thesufferers, beckoned to Berthaud and said to him: "Finish taking them outof the train; you will be able to clear the platform afterwards!"

The advice was very sensible, and in accordance with it they finishedplacing the sufferers on the platform. In Madame de Jonquiere's carriageMarie now alone remained, waiting patiently. M. De Guersaint and Pierrehad at last returned to her, bringing the two pairs of wheels by means ofwhich the box in which she lay was rolled about. And with Gerard'sassistance Pierre in all haste removed the girl from the train. She wasas light as a poor shivering bird, and it was only the box that gave themany trouble. However, they soon placed it on the wheels and made thelatter fast, and then Pierre might have rolled Marie away had it not beenfor the crowd which hampered him. 

"Make haste! make haste!" furiously repeated the station-master. 

He himself lent a hand, taking hold of a sick man by the feet in order toremove him from the compartment more speedily. And he also pushed thelittle hand-carts back, so as to clear the edge of the platform. In asecond-class carriage, however, there still remained one woman who hadjust been overpowered by a terrible nervous attack. She was howling andstruggling, and it was impossible to think of touching her at thatmoment. But on the other hand the express, signalled by the incessanttinkling of the electric bells, was now fast approaching, and they had toclose the door and in all haste shunt the train to the siding where itwould remain for three days, until in fact it was required to convey itsload of sick and healthy passengers back to Paris. As it went off to thesiding the crowd still heard the cries of the suffering woman, whom ithad been necessary to leave in it, in charge of a Sister, cries whichgrew weaker and weaker, like those of a strengthless child whom one atlast succeeds in consoling. 

"Good Lord!" muttered the station-master; "it was high time!"

In fact the Bayonne express was now coming along at full speed, and thenext moment it rushed like a crash of thunder past that woeful platformlittered with all the grievous wretchedness of a hospital hastilyevacuated. The litters and little handcarts were shaken, but there was noaccident, for the porters were on the watch, and pushed back thebewildered flock which was still jostling and struggling in its eagernessto get away. As soon as the express had passed, however, circulation wasre-established, and the bearers were at last able to complete the removalof the sick with prudent deliberation. 

Little by little the daylight was increasing--a clear dawn it was, whitening the heavens whose reflection illumined the earth, which wasstill black. One began to distinguish things and people clearly. 

"Oh, by-and-by!" Marie repeated to Pierre, as he endeavoured to roll heraway. "Let us wait till some part of the crowd has gone. "

Then, looking around, she began to feel interested in a man of militarybearing, apparently some sixty years of age, who was walking about amongthe sick pilgrims. With a square-shaped head and white bushy hair, hewould still have looked sturdy if he had not dragged his left foot, throwing it inward at each step he took. With the left hand, too, heleant heavily on a thick walking-stick. When M. Sabathier, who hadvisited Lourdes for six years past, perceived him, he became quite gay. "Ah!" said he, "it is you, Commander!"

Commander was perhaps the old man's name. But as he was decorated with abroad red riband, he was possibly called Commander on account of hisdecoration, albeit the latter was that of a mere chevalier. Nobodyexactly knew his story. No doubt he had relatives and children of his ownsomewhere, but these matters remained vague and mysterious. For the lastthree years he had been employed at the railway station as asuperintendent in the goods department, a simple occupation, a littleberth which had been given him by favour and which enabled him to live inperfect happiness. A first stroke of apoplexy at fifty-five years of agehad been followed by a second one three years later, which had left himslightly paralysed in the left side. And now he was awaiting the thirdstroke with an air of perfect tranquillity. As he himself put it, he wasat the disposal of death, which might come for him that night, the nextday, or possibly that very moment. All Lourdes knew him on account of thehabit, the mania he had, at pilgrimage time, of coming to witness thearrival of the trains, dragging his foot along and leaning upon hisstick, whilst expressing his astonishment and reproaching the ailing onesfor their intense desire to be made whole and sound again. 

This was the third year that he had seen M. Sabathier arrive, and all hisanger fell upon him. "What! you have come back _again_!" he exclaimed. "Well, you _must_ be desirous of living this hateful life! But_sacrebleu_! go and die quietly in your bed at home. Isn't that the bestthing that can happen to anyone?"

M. Sabathier evinced no anger, but laughed, exhausted though he was bythe handling to which he had been subjected during his removal from thecarriage. "No, no, " said he, "I prefer to be cured. "

"To be cured, to be cured! That's what they all ask for. They travelhundreds of leagues and arrive in fragments, howling with pain, and allthis to be cured--to go through every worry and every suffering again. Come, monsieur, you would be nicely caught if, at your age and with yourdilapidated old body, your Blessed Virgin should be pleased to restorethe use of your legs to you. What would you do with them, _mon Dieu?_What pleasure would you find in prolonging the abomination of old age fora few years more? It's much better to die at once, while you are likethat! Death is happiness!"

He spoke in this fashion, not as a believer who aspires to the deliciousreward of eternal life, but as a weary man who expects to fall intonihility, to enjoy the great everlasting peace of being no more. 

Whilst M. Sabathier was gaily shrugging his shoulders as though he had achild to deal with, Abbe Judaine, who had at last secured his banner, came by and stopped for a moment in order that he might gently scold theCommander, with whom he also was well acquainted. 

"Don't blaspheme, my dear friend, " he said. "It is an offence against Godto refuse life and to treat health with contempt. If you yourself hadlistened to me, you would have asked the Blessed Virgin to cure your legbefore now. "

At this the Commander became angry. "My leg! The Virgin can do nothing toit! I'm quite at my ease. May death come and may it all be over forever!When the time comes to die you turn your face to the wall and youdie--it's simple enough. "

The old priest interrupted him, however. Pointing to Marie, who was lyingon her box listening to them, he exclaimed: "You tell all our sick to gohome and die--even mademoiselle, eh? She who is full of youth and wishesto live. "

Marie's eyes were wide open, burning with the ardent desire which shefelt to _be_, to enjoy her share of the vast world; and the Commander, who had drawn near, gazed upon her, suddenly seized with deep emotionwhich made his voice tremble. "If mademoiselle gets well, " he said, "Iwill wish her another miracle, that she be happy. "

Then he went off, dragging his foot and tapping the flagstones with theferrule of his stout stick as he continued wending his way, like an angryphilosopher among the suffering pilgrims. 

Little by little, the platform was at last cleared. Madame Vetu and LaGrivotte were carried away, and Gerard removed M. Sabathier in a littlecart, whilst Baron Suire and Berthaud already began giving orders for thegreen train, which would be the next one to arrive. Of all the ailingpilgrims the only one now remaining at the station was Marie, of whomPierre jealously took charge. He had already dragged her into thecourtyard when he noticed that M. De Guersaint had disappeared; but amoment later he perceived him conversing with the Abbe des Hermoises, whose acquaintance he had just made. Their admiration of the beauties ofnature had brought them together. The daylight had now appeared, and thesurrounding mountains displayed themselves in all their majesty. 

"What a lovely country, monsieur!" exclaimed M. De Guersaint. "I havebeen wishing to see the Cirque de Gavarnie for thirty years past. But itis some distance away and the trip must be an expensive one, so that Ifear I shall not be able to make it. "

"You are mistaken, monsieur, " said the Abbe; "nothing is more easilymanaged. By making up a party the expense becomes very slight. And as ithappens, I wish to return there this year, so that if you would like tojoin us--"

"Oh, certainly, monsieur. We will speak of it again. A thousand thanks, "replied M. De Guersaint. 

His daughter was now calling him, however, and he joined her after takingleave of the Abbe in a very cordial manner. Pierre had decided that hewould drag Marie to the hospital so as to spare her the pain oftransference to another vehicle. But as the omnibuses, landaus, and otherconveyances were already coming back, again filling the courtyard inreadiness for the arrival of the next train, the young priest had somedifficulty in reaching the road with the little chariot whose low wheelssank deeply in the mud. Some police agents charged with maintaining orderwere cursing that fearful mire which splashed their boots; and indeed itwas only the touts, the young and old women who had rooms to let, wholaughed at the puddles, which they crossed and crossed again in everydirection, pursuing the last pilgrims that emerged from the station. 

When the little car had begun to roll more easily over the sloping roadMarie suddenly inquired of M. De Guersaint, who was walking near her:"What day of the week is it, father?"

"Saturday, my darling. "

"Ah! yes, Saturday, the day of the Blessed Virgin. Is it to-day that shewill cure me?"

Then she began thinking again; while, at some distance behind her, twobearers came furtively down the road, with a covered stretcher in whichlay the corpse of the man who had died in the train. They had gone totake it from behind the barrels in the goods office, and were nowconveying it to a secret spot of which Father Fourcade had told them. 

II. HOSPITAL AND GROTTO

BUILT, so far as it extends, by a charitable Canon, and left unfinishedthrough lack of money, the Hospital of Our Lady of Dolours is a vastpile, four storeys high, and consequently far too lofty, since it isdifficult to carry the sufferers to the topmost wards. As a rule thebuilding is occupied by a hundred infirm and aged paupers; but at theseason of the national pilgrimage these old folks are for three dayssheltered elsewhere, and the hospital is let to the Fathers of theAssumption, who at times lodge in it as many as five and six hundredpatients. Still, however closely packed they may be, the accommodationnever suffices, so that the three or four hundred remaining sufferershave to be distributed between the Hospital of Salvation and the townhospital, the men being sent to the former and the women to the latterinstitution. 

That morning at sunrise great confusion prevailed in the sand-coveredcourtyard of Our Lady of Dolours, at the door of which a couple ofpriests were mounting guard. The temporary staff, with its formidablesupply of registers, cards, and printed formulas, had installed itself inone of the ground-floor rooms on the previous day. The managers weredesirous of greatly improving upon the organisation of the precedingyear. The lower wards were this time to be reserved to the most helplesssufferers; and in order to prevent a repetition of the cases of mistakenidentity which had occurred in the past, very great care was to be takenin filling in and distributing the admission cards, each of which borethe name of a ward and the number of a bed. It became difficult, however, to act in accordance with these good intentions in presence of thetorrent of ailing beings which the white train had brought to Lourdes, and the new formalities so complicated matters that the patients had tobe deposited in the courtyard as they arrived, to wait there until itbecame possible to admit them in something like an orderly manner. It wasthe scene witnessed at the railway station all over again, the samewoeful camping in the open, whilst the bearers and the young seminaristswho acted as the secretary's assistants ran hither and thither inbewilderment. 

"We have been over-ambitious, we wanted to do things too well!" exclaimedBaron Suire in despair. 

There was much truth in his remark, for never had a greater number ofuseless precautions been taken, and they now discovered that, by someinexplicable error, they had allotted not the lower--but thehigher-placed wards to the patients whom it was most difficult to move. It was impossible to begin the classification afresh, however, and so asin former years things must be allowed to take their course, in ahaphazard way. The distribution of the cards began, a young priest at thesame time entering each patient's name and address in a register. Moreover, all the _hospitalisation_ cards bearing the patients' names andnumbers had to be produced, so that the names of the wards and thenumbers of the beds might be added to them; and all these formalitiesgreatly protracted the _defile_. 

Then there was an endless coming and going from the top to the bottom ofthe building, and from one to the other end of each of its four floors. M. Sabathier was one of the first to secure admittance, being placed in aground-floor room which was known as the Family Ward. Sick men were thereallowed to have their wives with them; but to the other wards of thehospital only women were admitted. Brother Isidore, it is true, wasaccompanied by his sister; however, by a special favour it was agreedthat they should be considered as conjoints, and the missionary wasaccordingly placed in the bed next to that allotted to M. Sabathier. Thechapel, still littered with plaster and with its unfinished windowsboarded up, was close at hand. There were also various wards in anunfinished state; still these were filled with mattresses, on whichsufferers were rapidly placed. All those who could walk, however, werealready besieging the refectory, a long gallery whose broad windowslooked into an inner courtyard; and the Saint-Frai Sisters, who managedthe hospital at other times, and had remained to attend to the cooking, began to distribute bowls of coffee and chocolate among the poor womenwhom the terrible journey had exhausted. 

"Rest yourselves and try to gain a little strength, " repeated BaronSuire, who was ever on the move, showing himself here, there, andeverywhere in rapid succession. "You have three good hours before you, itis not yet five, and their reverences have given orders that you are notto be taken to the Grotto until eight o'clock, so as to avoid anyexcessive fatigue. "

Meanwhile, up above on the second floor, Madame de Jonquiere had been oneof the first to take possession of the Sainte-Honorine Ward of which shewas the superintendent. She had been obliged to leave her daughterRaymonde downstairs, for the regulations did not allow young girls toenter the wards, where they might have witnessed sights that werescarcely proper or else too horrible for such eyes as theirs. Raymondehad therefore remained in the refectory as a helper; however, littleMadame Desagneaux, being a lady-hospitaller, had not left thesuperintendent, and was already asking her for orders, in her delightthat she should at last be able to render some assistance. 

"Are all these beds properly made, madame?" she inquired; "perhaps I hadbetter make them afresh with Sister Hyacinthe. "

The ward, whose walls were painted a light yellow, and whose few windowsadmitted but little light from an inner yard, contained fifteen beds, standing in two rows against the walls. 

"We will see by-and-by, " replied Madame de Jonquiere with an absorbedair. She was busy counting the beds and examining the long narrowapartment. And this accomplished she added in an undertone: "I shallnever have room enough. They say that I must accommodate twenty-threepatients. We shall have to put some mattresses down. "

Sister Hyacinthe, who had followed the ladies after leaving SisterSaint-Francois and Sister Claire des Anges in a small adjoining apartmentwhich was being transformed into a linen-room, then began to lift up thecoverlets and examine the bedding. And she promptly reassured MadameDesagneaux with regard to her surmises. "Oh! the beds are properly made, "she said; "everything is very clean too. One can see that the Saint-FraiSisters have attended to things themselves. The reserve mattresses are inthe next room, however, and if madame will lend me a hand we can placesome of them between the beds at once. 

"Oh, certainly!" exclaimed young Madame Desagneaux, quite excited by theidea of carrying mattresses about with her weak slender arms. 

It became necessary for Madame de Jonquiere to calm her. "By-and-by, "said the lady-superintendent; "there is no hurry. Let us wait till ourpatients arrive. I don't much like this ward, it is so difficult to air. Last year I had the Sainte-Rosalie Ward on the first floor. However, wewill organise matters, all the same. "

Some other lady-hospitallers were now arriving, quite a hiveful of busybees, all eager to start on their work. The confusion which so oftenarose was, in fact, increased by the excessive number of nurses, women ofthe aristocracy and upper-middle class, with whose fervent zeal somelittle vanity was blended. There were more than two hundred of them, andas each had to make a donation on joining the Hospitality of Our Lady ofSalvation, the managers did not dare to refuse any applicants, for fearlest they might check the flow of alms-giving. Thus the number oflady-hospitallers increased year by year. Fortunately there were amongthem some who cared for nothing beyond the privilege of wearing the redcloth cross, and who started off on excursions as soon as they reachedLourdes. Still it must be acknowledged that those who devoted themselveswere really deserving, for they underwent five days of awful fatigue, sleeping scarcely a couple of hours each night, and living in the midstof the most terrible and repulsive spectacles. They witnessed the deathagonies, dressed the pestilential sores, cleaned up, changed linen, turned the sufferers over in their beds, went through a sickening andoverwhelming labour to which they were in no wise accustomed. And thusthey emerged from it aching all over, tired to death, with feverish eyesflaming with the joy of the charity which so excited them. 

"And Madame Volmar?" suddenly asked Madame Desagneaux. "I thought weshould find her here. "

This was apparently a subject which Madame de Jonquiere did not care tohave discussed; for, as though she were aware of the truth and wished tobury it in silence, with the indulgence of a woman who compassionateshuman wretchedness, she promptly retorted: "Madame Volmar isn't strong, she must have gone to the hotel to rest. We must let her sleep. "

Then she apportioned the beds among the ladies present, allotting two toeach of them; and this done they all finished taking possession of theplace, hastening up and down and backwards and forwards in order toascertain where the offices, the linen-room, and the kitchens weresituated. 

"And the dispensary?" then asked one of the ladies. 

But there was no dispensary. There was no medical staff even. What wouldhave been the use of any?--since the patients were those whom science hadgiven up, despairing creatures who had come to beg of God the cure whichpowerless men were unable to promise them. Logically enough, alltreatment was suspended during the pilgrimage. If a patient seemed likelyto die, extreme unction was administered. The only medical man about theplace was the young doctor who had come by the white train with hislittle medicine chest; and his intervention was limited to an endeavourto assuage the sufferings of those patients who chanced to ask for himduring an attack. 

As it happened, Sister Hyacinthe was just bringing Ferrand, whom SisterSaint-Francois had kept with her in a closet near the linen-room which heproposed to make his quarters. "Madame, " said he to Madame de Jonquiere, "I am entirely at your disposal. In case of need you will only have toring for me. "

She barely listened to him, however, engaged as she was in a quarrel witha young priest belonging to the management with reference to a deficiencyof certain utensils. "Certainly, monsieur, if we should need a soothingdraught, " she answered, and then, reverting to her discussion, she wenton: "Well, Monsieur l'Abbe, you must certainly get me four or five more. How can we possibly manage with so few? Things are bad enough as it is. "

Ferrand looked and listened, quite bewildered by the extraordinarybehaviour of the people amongst whom he had been thrown by chance sincethe previous day. He who did not believe, who was only present out offriendship and charity, was amazed at this extraordinary scramble ofwretchedness and suffering rushing towards the hope of happiness. And, asa medical man of the new school, he was altogether upset by the carelessneglect of precautions, the contempt which was shown for the most simpleteachings of science, in the certainty which was apparently felt that, ifHeaven should so will it, cure would supervene, sudden and resounding, like a lie given to the very laws of nature. But if this were the case, what was the use of that last concession to human prejudices--why engagea doctor for the journey if none were wanted? At this thought the youngman returned to his little room, experiencing a vague feeling of shame ashe realised that his presence was useless, and even a trifle ridiculous. 

"Get some opium pills ready all the same, " said Sister Hyacinthe, as shewent back with him as far as the linen-room. "You will be asked for some, for I feel anxious about some of the patients. "

While speaking she looked at him with her large blue eyes, so gentle andso kind, and ever lighted by a divine smile. The constant exercise whichshe gave herself brought the rosy flush of her quick blood to her skinall dazzling with youthfulness. And like a good friend who was willingthat he should share the work to which she gave her heart, she added:"Besides, if I should need somebody to get a patient in or out of bed, you will help me, won't you?"

Thereupon, at the idea that he might be of use to her, he was pleasedthat he had come and was there. In his mind's eye, he again beheld her athis bedside, at the time when he had so narrowly escaped death, nursinghim with fraternal hands, with the smiling, compassionate grace of asexless angel, in whom there was something more than a comrade, somethingof a woman left. However, the thought never occurred to him that therewas religion, belief, behind her. 

"Oh! I will help you as much as you like, Sister, " he replied. "I belongto you, I shall be so happy to serve you. You know very well what a debtof gratitude I have to pay you. "

In a pretty way she raised her finger to her lips so as to silence him. Nobody owed her anything. She was merely the servant of the ailing andthe poor. 

At this moment a first patient was making her entry into theSainte-Honorine Ward. It was Marie, lying in her wooden box, whichPierre, with Gerard's assistance, had just brought up-stairs. The last tostart from the railway station, she had secured admission before theothers, thanks to the endless complications which, after keeping them allin suspense, now freed them according to the chance distribution of theadmission cards. M. De Guersaint had quitted his daughter at the hospitaldoor by her own desire; for, fearing the hotels would be very full, shehad wished him to secure two rooms for himself and Pierre at once. Then, on reaching the ward, she felt so weary that, after venting her chagrinat not being immediately taken to the Grotto, she consented to be laid ona bed for a short time. 

"Come, my child, " repeated Madame de Jonquiere, "you have three hoursbefore you. We will put you to bed. It will ease you to take you out ofthat case. "

Thereupon the lady-superintendent raised her by the shoulders, whilstSister Hyacinthe held her feet. The bed was in the central part of theward, near a window. For a moment the poor girl remained on it with hereyes closed, as though exhausted by being moved about so much. Then itbecame necessary that Pierre should be readmitted, for she grew veryfidgety, saying that there were things which she must explain to him. 

"Pray don't go away, my friend, " she exclaimed when he approached her. "Take the case out on to the landing, but stay there, because I want tobe taken down as soon as I can get permission. "

"Do you feel more comfortable now?" asked the young priest. 

"Yes, no doubt--but I really don't know. I so much want to be takenyonder to the Blessed Virgin's feet. "

However, when Pierre had removed the case, the successive arrivals of theother patients supplied her with some little diversion. Madame Vetu, whomtwo bearers had brought up-stairs, holding her under the arms, was laid, fully dressed, on the next bed, where she remained motionless, scarcebreathing, with her heavy, yellow, cancerous mask. None of the patients, it should be mentioned, were divested of their clothes, they were simplystretched out on the beds, and advised to go to sleep if they couldmanage to do so. Those whose complaints were less grievous contentedthemselves with sitting down on their mattresses, chatting together, andputting the things they had brought with them in order. For instance, Elise Rouquet, who was also near Marie, on the other side of the latter'sbed, opened her basket to take a clean fichu out of it, and seemed sorelyannoyed at having no hand-glass with her. In less than ten minutes allthe beds were occupied, so that when La Grivotte appeared, half carriedby Sister Hyacinthe and Sister Claire des Anges, it became necessary toplace some mattresses on the floor. 

"Here! here is one, " exclaimed Madame Desagneaux; "she will be very wellhere, out of the draught from the door. "

Seven other mattresses were soon added in a line, occupying the spacebetween the rows of beds, so that it became difficult to move about. Onehad to be very careful, and follow narrow pathways which had been leftbetween the beds and the mattresses. Each of the patients had retainedpossession of her parcel, or box, or bag, and round about the improvisedshakedowns were piles of poor old things, sorry remnants of garments, straying among the sheets and the coverlets. You might have thoughtyourself in some woeful infirmary, hastily organised after some greatcatastrophe, some conflagration or earthquake which had thrown hundredsof wounded and penniless beings into the streets. 

Madame de Jonquiere made her way from one to the other end of the ward, ever and ever repeating, "Come, my children, don't excite yourselves; tryto sleep a little. "

However, she did not succeed in calming them, and indeed, she herself, like the other lady-hospitallers under her orders, increased the generalfever by her own bewilderment. The linen of several patients had to bechanged, and there were other needs to be attended to. One woman, suffering from an ulcer in the leg, began moaning so dreadfully thatMadame Desagneaux undertook to dress her sore afresh; but she was notskilful, and despite all her passionate courage she almost fainted, sogreatly was she distressed by the unbearable odour. Those patients whowere in better health asked for broth, bowlfuls of which began tocirculate amidst the calls, the answers, and the contradictory orderswhich nobody executed. And meanwhile, let loose amidst this frightfulscramble, little Sophie Couteau, who remained with the Sisters, and wasvery gay, imagined that it was playtime, and ran, and jumped, and hoppedin turn, called and petted first by one and then by another, dear as shewas to all alike for the miraculous hope which she brought them. 

However, amidst this agitation, the hours went by. Seven o'clock had juststruck when Abbe Judaine came in. He was the chaplain of theSainte-Honorine Ward, and only the difficulty of finding an unoccupiedaltar at which he might say his mass had delayed his arrival. As soon ashe appeared, a cry of impatience arose from every bed. 

"Oh! Monsieur le Cure, let us start, let us start at once!"

An ardent desire, which each passing minute heightened and irritated, wasupbuoying them, like a more and more devouring thirst, which only thewaters of the miraculous fountain could appease. And more fervently thanany of the others, La Grivotte, sitting up on her mattress, and joiningher hands, begged and begged that she might be taken to the Grotto. Wasthere not a beginning of the miracle in this--in this awakening of herwill power, this feverish desire for cure which enabled her to setherself erect? Inert and fainting on her arrival, she was now seated, turning her dark glances in all directions, waiting and watching for thehappy moment when she would be removed. And colour also was returning toher livid face. She was already resuscitating. 

"Oh! Monsieur le Cure, pray do tell them to take me--I feel that I shallbe cured, " she exclaimed. 

With a loving, fatherly smile on his good-natured face, Abbe Judainelistened to them all, and allayed their impatience with kind words. Theywould soon set out; but they must be reasonable, and allow sufficienttime for things to be organised; and besides, the Blessed Virgin did notlike to have violence done her; she bided her time, and distributed herdivine favours among those who behaved themselves the best. 

As he paused before Marie's bed and beheld her, stammering entreatieswith joined hands, he again paused. "And you, too, my daughter, you arein a hurry?" he said. "Be easy, there is grace enough in heaven for youall. "

"I am dying of love, Father, " she murmured in reply. "My heart is soswollen with prayers, it stifles me--"

He was greatly touched by the passion of this poor emaciated child, soharshly stricken in her youth and beauty, and wishing to appease her, hecalled her attention to Madame Vetu, who did not move, though with hereyes wide open she stared at all who passed. 

"Look at madame, how quiet she is!" he said. "She is meditating, and shedoes right to place herself in God's hands, like a little child. "

However, in a scarcely audible voice, a mere breath, Madame Vetustammered: "Oh! I am suffering, I am suffering. "

At last, at a quarter to eight o'clock, Madame de Jonquiere warned hercharges that they would do well to prepare themselves. She herself, assisted by Sister Hyacinthe and Madame Desagneaux, buttoned severaldresses, and put shoes on impotent feet. It was a real toilette, for theyall desired to appear to the greatest advantage before the BlessedVirgin. A large number had sufficient sense of delicacy to wash theirhands. Others unpacked their parcels, and put on clean linen. On herside, Elise Rouquet had ended by discovering a little pocket-glass in thehands of a woman near her, a huge, dropsical creature, who was verycoquettish; and having borrowed it, she leant it against the bolster, andthen, with infinite care, began to fasten her fichu as elegantly aspossible about her head, in order to hide her distorted features. Meanwhile, erect in front of her, little Sophie watched her with an airof profound interest. 

It was Abbe Judaine who gave the signal for starting on the journey tothe Grotto. He wished, he said, to accompany his dear suffering daughtersthither, whilst the lady-hospitallers and the Sisters remained in theward, so as to put things in some little order again. Then the ward wasat once emptied, the patients being carried down-stairs amidst renewedtumult. And Pierre, having replaced Marie's box upon its wheels, took thefirst place in the _cortege_, which was formed of a score of littlehandcarts, bath-chairs, and litters. The other wards, however, were alsoemptying, the courtyard became crowded, and the _defile_ was organised inhaphazard fashion. There was soon an interminable train descending therather steep slope of the Avenue de la Grotte, so that Pierre was alreadyreaching the Plateau de la Merlasse when the last stretchers were barelyleaving the precincts of the hospital. 

It was eight o'clock, and the sun, already high, a triumphant August sun, was flaming in the great sky, which was beautifully clear. It seemed asif the blue of the atmosphere, cleansed by the storm of the previousnight, were quite new, fresh with youth. And the frightful _defile_, aperfect "Cour des Miracles" of human woe, rolled along the slopingpavement amid all the brilliancy of that radiant morning. There was noend to the train of abominations; it appeared to grow longer and longer. No order was observed, ailments of all kinds were jumbled together; itseemed like the clearing of some inferno where the most monstrousmaladies, the rare and awful cases which provoke a shudder, had beengathered together. Eczema, roseola, elephantiasis, presented a long arrayof doleful victims. Well-nigh vanished diseases reappeared; one old womanwas affected with leprosy, another was, covered with impetiginous lichenlike a tree which has rotted in the shade. Then came the dropsical ones, inflated like wine-skins; and beside some stretchers there dangled handstwisted by rheumatism, while from others protruded feet swollen by oedemabeyond all recognition, looking, in fact, like bags full of rags. Onewoman, suffering from hydrocephalus, sat in a little cart, the dolorousmotions of her head bespeaking her grievous malady. A tall girl afflictedwith chorea--St. Vitus's dance--was dancing with every limb, without apause, the left side of her face being continually distorted by sudden, convulsive grimaces. A younger one, who followed, gave vent to a bark, akind of plaintive animal cry, each time that the tic douloureux which wastorturing her twisted her mouth and her right cheek, which she seemed tothrow forward. Next came the consumptives, trembling with fever, exhausted by dysentery, wasted to skeletons, with livid skins, recallingthe colour of that earth in which they would soon be laid to rest; andthere was one among them who was quite white, with flaming eyes, wholooked indeed like a death's head in which a torch had been lighted. Thenevery deformity of the contractions followed in succession--twistedtrunks, twisted arms, necks askew, all the distortions of poor creatureswhom nature had warped and broken; and among these was one whose righthand was thrust back behind her ribs whilst her head fell to the leftresting fixedly upon her shoulder. Afterwards came poor rachitic girlsdisplaying waxen complexions and slender necks eaten away by sores, andyellow-faced women in the painful stupor which falls on those whosebosoms are devoured by cancers; whilst others, lying down with theirmournful eyes gazing heavenwards, seemed to be listening to the throbs ofthe tumours which obstructed their organs. And still more and more wentby; there was always something more frightful to come; this womanfollowing that other one increased the general shudder of horror. Fromthe neck of a girl of twenty who had a crushed, flattened head like atoad's, there hung so large a goitre that it fell even to her waist likethe bib of an apron. A blind woman walked along, her head erect, her facepale like marble, displaying the acute inflammation of her poor, ulcerated eyes. An aged woman stricken with imbecility, afflicted withdreadful facial disfigurements, laughed aloud with a terrifying laugh. And all at once an epileptic was seized with convulsions, and beganfoaming on her stretcher, without, however, causing any stoppage of theprocession, which never slackened its march, lashed onward as it was bythe blizzard of feverish passion which impelled it towards the Grotto. 

The bearers, the priests, and the ailing ones themselves had justintonated a canticle, the song of Bernadette, and all rolled along amidthe besetting "Aves, " so that the little carts, the litters, and thepedestrians descended the sloping road like a swollen and overflowingtorrent of roaring water. At the corner of the Rue Saint-Joseph, near thePlateau de la Merlasse, a family of excursionists, who had come fromCauterets or Bagneres, stood at the edge of the footway, overcome withprofound astonishment. These people were evidently well-to-do_bourgeois_, the father and mother very correct in appearance anddemeanour, while their two big girls, attired in light-coloured dresses, had the smiling faces of happy creatures who are amusing themselves. Buttheir first feeling of surprise was soon followed by terror, a growingterror, as if they beheld the opening of some pesthouse of ancient times, some hospital of the legendary ages, evacuated after a great epidemic. The two girls became quite pale, while the father and the mother felt icycold in presence of that endless _defile_ of so many horrors, thepestilential emanations of which were blown full in their faces. O God!to think that such hideousness, such filth, such suffering, should exist!Was it possible--under that magnificently radiant sun, under those broadheavens so full of light and joy whither the freshness of the Gave'swaters ascended, and the breeze of morning wafted the pure perfumes ofthe mountains!

When Pierre, at the head of the _cortege_, reached the Plateau de laMerlasse, he found himself immersed in that clear sunlight, that freshand balmy air. He turned round and smiled affectionately at Marie; and asthey came out on the Place du Rosaire in the morning splendour, they wereboth enchanted with the lovely panorama which spread around them. 

In front, on the east, was Old Lourdes, lying in a broad fold of theground beyond a rock. The sun was rising behind the distant mountains, and its oblique rays clearly outlined the dark lilac mass of thatsolitary rock, which was crowned by the tower and crumbling walls of theancient castle, once the redoubtable key of the seven valleys. Throughthe dancing, golden dust you discerned little of the ruined pile exceptsome stately outlines, some huge blocks of building which looked asthough reared by Cyclopean hands; and beyond the rock you but vaguelydistinguished the discoloured, intermingled house-roofs of the old town. Nearer in than the castle, however, the new town--the rich and noisy citywhich had sprung up in a few years as though by miracle--spread out oneither hand, displaying its hotels, its stylish shops, its lodging-housesall with white fronts smiling amidst patches of greenery. Then there wasthe Gave flowing along at the base of the rock, rolling clamorous, clearwaters, now blue and now green, now deep as they passed under the oldbridge, and now leaping as they careered under the new one, which theFathers of the Immaculate Conception had built in order to connect theGrotto with the railway station and the recently opened Boulevard. And asa background to this delightful picture, this fresh water, this greenery, this gay, scattered, rejuvenated town, the little and the big Gers arose, two huge ridges of bare rock and low herbage, which, in the projectedshade that bathed them, assumed delicate tints of pale mauve and green, fading softly into pink. 

Then, upon the north, on the right bank of the Gave, beyond the hillsfollowed by the railway line, the heights of La Buala ascended, theirwooded slopes radiant in the morning light. On that side lay Bartres. More to the left arose the Serre de Julos, dominated by the Miramont. Other crests, far off, faded away into the ether. And in the foreground, rising in tiers among the grassy valleys beyond the Gave, a number ofconvents, which seemed to have sprung up in this region of prodigies likeearly vegetation, imparted some measure of life to the landscape. First, there was an Orphan Asylum founded by the Sisters of Nevers, whose vastbuildings shone brightly in the sunlight. Next came the Carmeliteconvent, on the highway to Pau, just in front of the Grotto; and thenthat of the Assumptionists higher up, skirting the road to Poueyferre;whilst the Dominicans showed but a corner of their roofs, sequestered inthe far-away solitude. And at last appeared the establishment of theSisters of the Immaculate Conception, those who were called the BlueSisters, and who had founded at the far end of the valley a home wherethey received well-to-do lady pilgrims, desirous of solitude, asboarders. 

At that early hour all the bells of these convents were pealing joyfullyin the crystalline atmosphere, whilst the bells of other convents, on theother, the southern horizon, answered them with the same silvery strainsof joy. The bell of the nunnery of Sainte Clarissa, near the old bridge, rang a scale of gay, clear notes, which one might have fancied to be thechirruping of a bird. And on this side of the town, also, there werevalleys that dipped down between the ridges, and mountains that uprearedtheir bare sides, a commingling of smiling and of agitated nature, anendless surging of heights amongst which you noticed those of Visens, whose slopes the sunlight tinged ornately with soft blue and carmine of arippling, moire-like effect. 

However, when Marie and Pierre turned their eyes to the west, they werequite dazzled. The sun rays were here streaming on the large and thelittle Beout with their cupolas of unequal height. And on this side thebackground was one of gold and purple, a dazzling mountain on whose sidesone could only discern the road which snaked between the trees on its wayto the Calvary above. And here, too, against the sunlit background, radiant like an aureola, stood out the three superposed churches which atthe voice of Bernadette had sprung from the rock to the glory of theBlessed Virgin. First of all, down below, came the church of the Rosary, squat, circular, and half cut out of the rock, at the farther end of anesplanade on either side of which, like two huge arms, were colossalgradient ways ascending gently to the Crypt church. Vast labour had beenexpended here, a quarryful of stones had been cut and set in position, there were arches as lofty as naves supporting the gigantic terracedavenues which had been constructed so that the processions might rollalong in all their pomp, and the little conveyances containing sickchildren might ascend without hindrance to the divine presence. Then camethe Crypt, the subterranean church within the rock, with only its lowdoor visible above the church of the Rosary, whose paved roof, with itsvast promenade, formed a continuation of the terraced inclines. And atlast, from the summit sprang the Basilica, somewhat slender and frail, recalling some finely chased jewel of the Renascence, and looking verynew and very white--like a prayer, a spotless dove, soaring aloft fromthe rocks of Massabielle. The spire, which appeared the more delicate andslight when compared with the gigantic inclines below, seemed like thelittle vertical flame of a taper set in the midst of the vast landscape, those endless waves of valleys and mountains. By the side, too, of thedense greenery of the Calvary hill, it looked fragile and candid, likechildish faith; and at sight of it you instinctively thought of thelittle white arm, the little thin hand of the puny girl, who had herepointed to Heaven in the crisis of her human sufferings. You could notsee the Grotto, the entrance of which was on the left, at the base of therock. Beyond the Basilica, the only buildings which caught the eye werethe heavy square pile where the Fathers of the Immaculate Conception hadtheir abode, and the episcopal palace, standing much farther away, in aspreading, wooded valley. And the three churches were flaming in themorning glow, and the rain of gold scattered by the sun rays was sweepingthe whole countryside, whilst the flying peals of the bells seemed to bethe very vibration of the light, the musical awakening of the lovely daythat was now beginning. 

Whilst crossing the Place du Rosaire, Pierre and Marie glanced at theEsplanade, the public walk with its long central lawn skirted by broadparallel paths and extending as far as the new bridge. Here, with faceturned towards the Basilica, was the great crowned statue of the Virgin. All the sufferers crossed themselves as they went by. And stillpassionately chanting its canticle, the fearful _cortege_ rolled on, through nature in festive array. Under the dazzling sky, past themountains of gold and purple, amidst the centenarian trees, symbolical ofhealth, the running waters whose freshness was eternal, that _cortege_still and ever marched on with its sufferers, whom nature, if not God, had condemned, those who were afflicted with skin diseases, those whoseflesh was eaten away, those who were dropsical and inflated likewine-skins, and those whom rheumatism and paralysis had twisted intopostures of agony. And the victims of hydrocephalus followed, with thedancers of St. Vitus, the consumptives, the rickety, the epileptic, thecancerous, the goitrous, the blind, the mad, and the idiotic. "Ave, ave, ave, Maria!" they sang; and the stubborn plaint acquired increasedvolume, as nearer and nearer to the Grotto it bore that abominabletorrent of human wretchedness and pain, amidst all the fright and horrorof the passers-by, who stopped short, unable to stir, their hearts frozenas this nightmare swept before their eyes. 

Pierre and Marie were the first to pass under the lofty arcade of one ofthe terraced inclines. And then, as they followed the quay of the Gave, they all at once came upon the Grotto. And Marie, whom Pierre wheeled asnear to the railing as possible, was only able to raise herself in herlittle conveyance, and murmur: "O most Blessed Virgin, Virgin mostloved!"

She had seen neither the entrances to the piscinas nor the twelve-pipedfountain, which she had just passed; nor did she distinguish any betterthe shop on her left hand where crucifixes, chaplets, statuettes, pictures, and other religious articles were sold, or the stone pulpit onher right which Father Massias already occupied. Her eyes were dazzled bythe splendour of the Grotto; it seemed to her as if a hundred thousandtapers were burning there behind the railing, filling the low entrancewith the glow of a furnace and illuminating, as with star rays, thestatue of the Virgin, which stood, higher up, at the edge of a narrowogive-like cavity. And for her, apart from that glorious apparition, nothing existed there, neither the crutches with which a part of thevault had been covered, nor the piles of bouquets fading away amidst theivy and the eglantine, nor even the altar placed in the centre near alittle portable organ over which a cover had been thrown. However, as sheraised her eyes above the rock, she once more beheld the slender whiteBasilica profiled against the sky, its slight, tapering spire soaringinto the azure of the Infinite like a prayer. 

"O Virgin most powerful--Queen of the Virgins--Holy Virgin of Virgins!"

Pierre had now succeeded in wheeling Marie's box to the front rank, beyond the numerous oak benches which were set out here in the open airas in the nave of a church. Nearly all these benches were alreadyoccupied by those sufferers who could sit down, while the vacant spaceswere soon filled with litters and little vehicles whose wheels becameentangled together, and on whose close-packed mattresses and pillows allsorts of diseases were gathered pell-mell. Immediately on arriving, theyoung priest had recognised the Vignerons seated with their sorry childGustave in the middle of a bench, and now, on the flagstones, he caughtsight of the lace-trimmed bed of Madame Dieulafay, beside whom herhusband and sister knelt in prayer. Moreover, all the patients of Madamede Jonquiere's carriage took up position here--M. Sabathier and BrotherIsidore side by side, Madame Vetu reclining hopelessly in a conveyance, Elise Rouquet seated, La Grivotte excited and raising herself on herclenched hands. Pierre also again perceived Madame Maze, standingsomewhat apart from the others, and humbling herself in prayer; whilstMadame Vincent, who had fallen on her knees, still holding her littleRose in her arms, presented the child to the Virgin with ardent entreaty, the distracted gesture of a mother soliciting compassion from the motherof divine grace. And around this reserved space was the ever-growingthrong of pilgrims, the pressing, jostling mob which gradually stretchedto the parapet overlooking the Gave. 

"O Virgin most merciful, " continued Marie in an undertone, "Virgin mostfaithful, Virgin conceived without sin!"

Then, almost fainting, she spoke no more, but with her lips still moving, as though in silent prayer, gazed distractedly at Pierre. He thought thatshe wished to speak to him and leant forward: "Shall I remain here atyour disposal to take you to the piscina by-and-by?" he asked. 

But as soon as she understood him she shook her head. And then in afeverish way she said: "No, no, I don't want to be bathed this morning. It seems to me that one must be truly worthy, truly pure, truly holybefore seeking the miracle! I want to spend the whole morning inimploring it with joined hands; I want to pray, to pray with all mystrength and all my soul--" She was stifling, and paused. Then she added:"Don't come to take me back to the hospital till eleven o'clock. I willnot let them take me from here till then. "

However, Pierre did not go away, but remained near her. For a moment, heeven fell upon his knees; he also would have liked to pray with the sameburning faith, to beg of God the cure of that poor sick child, whom heloved with such fraternal affection. But since he had reached the Grottohe had felt a singular sensation invading him, a covert revolt, as itwere, which hampered the pious flight of his prayer. He wished tobelieve; he had spent the whole night hoping that belief would once moreblossom in his soul, like some lovely flower of innocence and candour, assoon as he should have knelt upon the soil of that land of miracle. Andyet he only experienced discomfort and anxiety in presence of thetheatrical scene before him, that pale stiff statue in the false light ofthe tapers, with the chaplet shop full of jostling customers on the onehand, and the large stone pulpit whence a Father of the Assumption wasshouting "Aves" on the other. Had his soul become utterly withered then?Could no divine dew again impregnate it with innocence, render it likethe souls of little children, who at the slightest caressing touch of thesacred legend give themselves to it entirely?

Then, while his thoughts were still wandering, he recognised FatherMassias in the ecclesiastic who occupied the pulpit. He had formerlyknown him, and was quite stirred by his sombre ardour, by the sight ofhis thin face and sparkling eyes, by the eloquence which poured from hislarge mouth as he offered violence to Heaven to compel it to descend uponearth. And whilst he thus examined Father Massias, astonished at feelinghimself so unlike the preacher, he caught sight of Father Fourcade, who, at the foot of the pulpit, was deep in conference with Baron Suire. Thelatter seemed much perplexed by something which Father Fourcade said tohim; however he ended by approving it with a complaisant nod. Then, asAbbe Judaine was also standing there, Father Fourcade likewise spoke tohim for a moment, and a scared expression came over the Abbe's broad, fatherly face while he listened; nevertheless, like the Baron, he at lastbowed assent. 

Then, all at once, Father Fourcade appeared in the pulpit, erect, drawingup his lofty figure which his attack of gout had slightly bent; and hehad not wished that Father Massias, his well-loved brother, whom hepreferred above all others, should altogether go down the narrowstairway, for he had kept him upon one of the steps, and was leaning onhis shoulder. And in a full, grave voice, with an air of sovereignauthority which caused perfect silence to reign around, he spoke asfollows:

"My dear brethren, my dear sisters, I ask your forgiveness forinterrupting your prayers, but I have a communication to make to you, andI have to ask the help of all your faithful souls. We had a very sadaccident to deplore this morning, one of our brethren died in one of thetrains by which you came to Lourdes, died just as he was about to setfoot in the promised land. "

A brief pause followed and Father Fourcade seemed to become yet taller, his handsome face beaming with fervour, amidst his long, streaming, royalbeard. 

"Well, my dear brethren, my dear sisters, " he resumed, "in spite ofeverything, the idea has come to me that we ought not to despair. Whoknows if God Almighty did not will that death in order that He mightprove His Omnipotence to the world? It is as though a voice were speakingto me, urging me to ascend this pulpit and ask your prayers for this man, this man who is no more, but whose life is nevertheless in the hands ofthe most Blessed Virgin who can still implore her Divine Son in hisfavour. Yes, the man is here, I have caused his body to be broughthither, and it depends on you, perhaps, whether a brilliant miracle shalldazzle the universe, if you pray with sufficient ardour to touch thecompassion of Heaven. We will plunge the man's body into the piscina andwe will entreat the Lord, the master of the world, to resuscitate him, togive unto us this extraordinary sign of His sovereign beneficence!"

An icy thrill, wafted from the Invisible, passed through the listeners. They had all become pale, and though the lips of none of them had opened, it seemed as if a murmur sped through their ranks amidst a shudder. 

"But with what ardour must we not pray!" violently resumed FatherFourcade, exalted by genuine faith. "It is your souls, your whole souls, that I ask of you, my dear brothers, my dear sisters, it is a prayer inwhich you must put your hearts, your blood, your very life with whatevermay be most noble and loving in it! Pray with all your strength, praytill you no longer know who you are, or where you are; pray as one loves, pray as one dies, for that which we are about to ask is so precious, sorare, so astounding a grace that only the energy of our worship caninduce God to answer us. And in order that our prayers may be the moreefficacious, in order that they may have time to spread and ascend to thefeet of the Eternal Father, we will not lower the body into the piscinauntil four o'clock this afternoon. And now my dear brethren, now my dearsisters, pray, pray to the most Blessed Virgin, the Queen of the Angels, the Comforter of the Afflicted!"

Then he himself, distracted by emotion, resumed the recital of therosary, whilst near him Father Massias burst into sobs. And thereupon thegreat anxious silence was broken, contagion seized upon the throng, itwas transported and gave vent to shouts, tears, and confused stammeredentreaties. It was as though a breath of delirium were sweeping by, reducing men's wills to naught, and turning all these beings into onebeing, exasperated with love and seized with a mad desire for theimpossible prodigy. 

And for a moment Pierre had thought that the ground was giving waybeneath him, that he was about to fall and faint. But with difficulty hemanaged to rise from his knees and slowly walked away. 

III. FOUNTAIN AND PISCINA

As Pierre went off, ill at ease, mastered by invincible repugnance, unwilling to remain there any longer, he caught sight of M. De Guersaint, kneeling near the Grotto, with the absorbed air of one who is prayingwith his whole soul. The young priest had not seen him since the morning, and did not know whether he had managed to secure a couple of rooms inone or other of the hotels, so that his first impulse was to go and joinhim. Then, however, he hesitated, unwilling to disturb his meditations, for he was doubtless praying for his daughter, whom he fondly loved, inspite of the constant absent-mindedness of his volatile brain. Accordingly, the young priest passed on, and took his way under thetrees. Nine o'clock was now striking, he had a couple of hours beforehim. 

By dint of money, the wild bank where swine had formerly pastured hadbeen transformed into a superb avenue skirting the Gave. It had beennecessary to put back the river's bed in order to gain ground, and layout a monumental quay bordered by a broad footway, and protected by aparapet. Some two or three hundred yards farther on, a hill brought theavenue to an end, and it thus resembled an enclosed promenade, providedwith benches, and shaded by magnificent trees. Nobody passed along, however; merely the overflow of the crowd had settled there, and solitaryspots still abounded between the grassy wall limiting the promenade onthe south, and the extensive fields spreading out northward beyond theGave, as far as the wooded slopes which the white-walled conventsbrightened. Under the foliage, on the margin of the running water, onecould enjoy delightful freshness, even during the burning days of August. 

Thus Pierre, like a man at last awakening from a painful dream, soonfound rest of mind again. He had questioned himself in the acute anxietywhich he felt with regard to his sensations. Had he not reached Lourdesthat morning possessed by a genuine desire to believe, an idea that hewas indeed again beginning to believe even as he had done in the dociledays of childhood when his mother had made him join his hands, and taughthim to fear God? Yet as soon as he had found himself at the Grotto, theidolatry of the worship, the violence of the display of faith, theonslaught upon human reason which he witnessed, had so disturbed him thathe had almost fainted. What would become of him then? Could he not eventry to contend against his doubts by examining things and convincinghimself of their truth, thus turning his journey to profit? At allevents, he had made a bad beginning, which left him sorely agitated, andhe indeed needed the environment of those fine trees, that limpid, rushing water, that calm, cool avenue, to recover from the shock. 

Still pondering, he was approaching the end of the pathway, when he mostunexpectedly met a forgotten friend. He had, for a few seconds, beenlooking at a tall old gentleman who was coming towards him, dressed in atightly buttoned frock-coat and broad-brimmed hat; and he had tried toremember where it was that he had previously beheld that pale face, witheagle nose, and black and penetrating eyes. These he had seen before, hefelt sure of it; but the promenader's long white beard and long curlywhite hair perplexed him. However, the other halted, also lookingextremely astonished, though he promptly exclaimed, "What, Pierre? Is ityou, at Lourdes?"

Then all at once the young priest recognised Doctor Chassaigne, hisfather's old friend, his own friend, the man who had cured and consoledhim in the terrible physical and mental crisis which had come upon himafter his mother's death. 

"Ah! my dear doctor, how pleased I am to see you!" he replied. 

They embraced with deep emotion. And now, in presence of that snowy hairand snowy beard, that slow walk, that sorrowful demeanour, Pierreremembered with what unrelenting ferocity misfortune had fallen on thatunhappy man and aged him. But a few years had gone by, and now, when theymet again, he was bowed down by destiny. 

"You did not know, I suppose, that I had remained at Lourdes?" said thedoctor. "It's true that I no longer write to anybody; in fact, I am nolonger among the living. I live in the land of the dead. " Tears weregathering in his eyes, and emotion made his voice falter as he resumed:"There! come and sit down on that bench yonder; it will please me to livethe old days afresh with you, just for a moment. "

In his turn the young priest felt his sobs choking him. He could onlymurmur: "Ah! my dear doctor, my old friend, I can truly tell you that Ipitied you with my whole heart, my whole soul. "

Doctor Chassaigne's story was one of disaster, the shipwreck of a life. He and his daughter Marguerite, a tall and lovable girl of twenty, hadgone to Cauterets with Madame Chassaigne, the model wife and mother, whose state of health had made them somewhat anxious. A fortnight hadelapsed and she seemed much better, and was already planning severalpleasure trips, when one morning she was found dead in her bed. Herhusband and daughter were overwhelmed, stupefied by this sudden blow, this cruel treachery of death. The doctor, who belonged to Bartres, had afamily vault in the Lourdes cemetery, a vault constructed at his ownexpense, and in which his father and mother already rested. He desired, therefore, that his wife should be interred there, in a compartmentadjoining that in which he expected soon to lie himself. And after theburial he had lingered for a week at Lourdes, when Marguerite, who waswith him, was seized with a great shivering, and, taking to her bed oneevening, died two days afterwards without her distracted father beingable to form any exact notion of the illness which had carried her off. And thus it was not himself, but his daughter, lately radiant with beautyand health, in the very flower of her youth, who was laid in the vacantcompartment by the mother's side. The man who had been so happy, soworshipped by his two helpmates, whose heart had been kept so warm by thelove of two dear creatures all his own, was now nothing more than an old, miserable, stammering, lost being, who shivered in his icy solitude. Allthe joy of his life had departed; he envied the men who broke stones uponthe highways when he saw their barefooted wives and daughters bring themtheir dinners at noontide. And he had refused to leave Lourdes, he hadrelinquished everything, his studies, his practice in Paris, in orderthat he might live near the tomb in which his wife and his daughter sleptthe eternal sleep. 

"Ah, my old friend, " repeated Pierre, "how I pitied you! How frightfulmust have been your grief! But why did you not rely a little on those wholove you? Why did you shut yourself up here with your sorrow?"

The doctor made a gesture which embraced the horizon. "I could not goaway, they are here and keep me with them. It is all over, I am merelywaiting till my time comes to join them again. "

Then silence fell. Birds were fluttering among the shrubs on the bankbehind them, and in front they heard the loud murmur of the Gave. The sunrays were falling more heavily in a slow, golden dust, upon thehillsides; but on that retired bench under the beautiful trees, thecoolness was still delightful. And although the crowd was but a couple ofhundred yards distant, they were, so to say, in a desert, for nobody torehimself away from the Grotto to stray as far as the spot which they hadchosen. 

They talked together for a long time, and Pierre related under whatcircumstances he had reached Lourdes that morning with M. De Guersaintand his daughter, all three forming part of the national pilgrimage. Thenall at once he gave a start of astonishment and exclaimed: "What! doctor, so you now believe that miracles are possible? You, good heavens! whom Iknew as an unbeliever, or at least as one altogether indifferent to thesematters?"

He was gazing at M. Chassaigne quite stupefied by something which he hadjust heard him say of the Grotto and Bernadette. It was amazing, comingfrom a man with so strong a mind, a _savant_ of such intelligence, whosepowerful analytical faculties he had formerly so much admired! How was itthat a lofty, clear mind, nourished by experience and method, had becomeso changed as to acknowledge the miraculous cures effected by that divinefountain which the Blessed Virgin had caused to spurt forth under thepressure of a child's fingers?

"But just think a little, my dear doctor, " he resumed. "It was youyourself who supplied my father with memoranda about Bernadette, yourlittle fellow-villager as you used to call her; and it was you, too, whospoke to me at such length about her, when, later on, I took a momentaryinterest in her story. In your eyes she was simply an ailing child, proneto hallucinations, infantile, but self-conscious of her acts, deficientof will-power. Recollect our chats together, my doubts, and the healthyreason which you again enabled me, to acquire!"

Pierre was feeling very moved, for was not this the strangest ofadventures? He a priest, who in a spirit of resignation had formerlyendeavoured to believe, had ended by completely losing all faith throughintercourse with this same doctor, who was then an unbeliever, but whomhe now found converted, conquered by the supernatural, whilst he himselfwas racked by the torture of no longer believing. 

"You who would only rely on accurate facts, " he said, "you who basedeverything on observation! Do you renounce science then?"

Chassaigne, hitherto quiet, with a sorrowful smile playing on his lips, now made a violent gesture expressive of sovereign contempt. "Scienceindeed!" he exclaimed. "Do I know anything? Can I accomplish anything?You asked me just now what malady it was that killed my poor Marguerite. But I do not know! I, whom people think so learned, so well armed againstdeath, I understood nothing of it, and I could do nothing--not evenprolong my daughter's life for a single hour! And my wife, whom I foundin bed already cold, when on the previous evening she had lain down inmuch better health and quite gay--was I even capable of foreseeing whatought to have been done in her case? No, no! for me at all events, science has become bankrupt. I wish to know nothing; I am but a fool anda poor old man!"

He spoke like this in a furious revolt against all his past life of prideand happiness. Then, having become calm again, he added: "And now I onlyfeel a frightful remorse. Yes, a remorse which haunts me, which everbrings me here, prowling around the people who are praying. It is remorsefor not having in the first instance come and humbled myself at thatGrotto, bringing my two dear ones with me. They would have knelt therelike those women whom you see, I should have knelt beside them, andperhaps the Blessed Virgin would have cured and preserved them. But, foolthat I was, I only knew how to lose them! It is my fault. "

Tears were now streaming from his eyes. "I remember, " he continued, "thatin my childhood at Bartres, my mother, a peasant woman, made me join myhands and implore God's help each morning. The prayer she taught me cameback to my mind, word for word, when I again found myself alone, as weak, as lost, as a little child. What would you have, my friend? I joined myhands as in my younger days, I felt too wretched, too forsaken, I had tookeen a need of a superhuman help, of a divine power which should thinkand determine for me, which should lull me and carry me on with itseternal prescience. How great at first was the confusion, the aberrationof my poor brain, under the frightful, heavy blow which fell upon it! Ispent a score of nights without being able to sleep, thinking that Ishould surely go mad. All sorts of ideas warred within me; I passedthrough periods of revolt when I shook my fist at Heaven, and then Ilapsed into humility, entreating God to take me in my turn. And it was atlast a conviction that there must be justice, a conviction that theremust be love, which calmed me by restoring me my faith. You knew mydaughter, so tall and strong, so beautiful, so brimful of life. Would itnot be the most monstrous injustice if for her, who did not know life, there should be nothing beyond the tomb? She will live again, I amabsolutely convinced of it, for I still hear her at times, she tells methat we shall meet, that we shall see one another again. Oh! the dearbeings whom one has lost, my dear daughter, my dear wife, to see themonce more, to live with them elsewhere, that is the one hope, the oneconsolation for all the sorrows of this world! I have given myself toGod, since God alone can restore them to me!"

He was shaking with a slight tremor, like the weak old man he had become;and Pierre was at last able to understand and explain the conversion ofthis _savant_, this man of intellect who, growing old, had reverted tobelief under the influence of sentiment. First of all, and this he hadpreviously suspected, he discovered a kind of atavism of faith in thisPyrenean, this son of peasant mountaineers, who had been brought up inbelief of the legend, and whom the legend had again mastered even whenfifty years, of positive study had rolled over it. Then, too, there washuman weariness; this man, to whom science had not brought happiness, revolted against science on the day when it seemed to him shallow, powerless to prevent him from shedding tears. And finally there wasdiscouragement, a doubt of all things, ending in a need of certainty onthe part of one whom age had softened, and who felt happy at being ableto fall asleep in credulity. 

Pierre did not protest, however; he did not jeer, for his heart was rentat sight of this tall, stricken old man, with his woeful senility. Is itnot indeed pitiful to see the strongest, the clearest-minded become merechildren again under such blows of fate? "Ah!" he faintly sighed, "if Icould only suffer enough to be able to silence my reason, and kneelyonder and believe in all those fine stories. "

The pale smile, which at times still passed over Doctor Chassaigne'slips, reappeared on them. "You mean the miracles?" said he. "You are apriest, my child, and I know what your misfortune is. The miracles seemimpossible to you. But what do you know of them? Admit that you knownothing, and that what to our senses seems impossible is every minutetaking place. And now we have been talking together for a long time, andeleven o'clock will soon strike, so that you must return to the Grotto. However, I shall expect you, at half-past three, when I will take you tothe Medical Verification Office, where I hope I shall be able to show yousome surprising things. Don't forget, at half-past three. "

Thereupon he sent him off, and remained on the bench alone. The heat hadyet increased, and the distant hills were burning in the furnace-likeglow of the sun. However, he lingered there forgetfully, dreaming in thegreeny half-light amidst the foliage, and listening to the continuousmurmur of the Gave, as if a voice, a dear voice from the realms beyond, were speaking to him. 

Pierre meantime hastened back to Marie. He was able to join her withoutmuch difficulty, for the crowd was thinning, a good many people havingalready gone off to _dejeuner_. And on arriving he perceived the girl'sfather, who was quietly seated beside her, and who at once wished toexplain to him the reason of his long absence. For more than a couple ofhours that morning he had scoured Lourdes in all directions, applying attwenty hotels in turn without being able to find the smallest closetwhere they might sleep. Even the servants' rooms were let and you couldnot have even secured a mattress on which to stretch yourself in somepassage. However, all at once, just as he was despairing, he haddiscovered two rooms, small ones, it is true, and just under the roof, but in a very good hotel, that of the Apparitions, one of the bestpatronised in the town. The persons who had retained these rooms had justtelegraphed that the patient whom they had meant to bring with them wasdead. Briefly, it was a piece of rare good luck, and seemed to make M. DeGuersaint quite gay. 

Eleven o'clock was now striking and the woeful procession of sufferersstarted off again through the sunlit streets and squares. When it reachedthe hospital Marie begged her father and Pierre to go to the hotel, lunchand rest there awhile, and return to fetch her at two o'clock, when thepatients would again be conducted to the Grotto. But when, afterlunching, the two men went up to the rooms which they were to occupy atthe Hotel of the Apparitions, M. De Guersaint, overcome by fatigue, fellso soundly asleep that Pierre had not the heart to awaken him. What wouldhave been the use of it? His presence was not indispensable. And so theyoung priest returned to the hospital alone. Then the _cortege_ againdescended the Avenue de la Grotte, again wended its way over the Plateaude la Merlasse, again crossed the Place du Rosaire, past an ever-growingcrowd which shuddered and crossed itself amid all the joyousness of thatsplendid August day. It was now the most glorious hour of a lovelyafternoon. 

When Marie was again installed in front of the Grotto she inquired if herfather were coming. "Yes, " answered Pierre; "he is only taking a littlerest. "

She waved her hand as though to say that he was acting rightly, and thenin a sorely troubled voice she added: "Listen, Pierre; don't take me tothe piscina for another hour. I am not yet in a state to find favour fromHeaven, I wish to pray, to keep on praying. "

After evincing such an ardent desire to come to Lourdes, terror wasagitating her now that the moment for attempting the miracle was at hand. In fact, she began to relate that she had been unable to eat anything, and a girl who overheard her at once approached saying: "If you feel tooweak, my dear young lady, remember we have some broth here. "

Marie looked at her and recognised Raymonde. Several young girls were inthis wise employed at the Grotto to distribute cups of broth and milkamong the sufferers. Some of them, indeed, in previous years haddisplayed so much coquetry in the matter of silk, aprons trimmed withlace, that a uniform apron, of modest linen, with a small check pattern, blue and white, had been imposed on them. Nevertheless, in spite of thisenforced simplicity, Raymonde, thanks to her freshness and her active, good-natured, housewifely air, had succeeded in making herself look quitecharming. 

"You will remember, won't you?" she added; "you have only to make me asign and I will serve you. "

Marie thanked her, saying, however, that she felt sure she would not beable to take anything; and then, turning towards the young priest, sheresumed: "One hour--you must allow me one more hour, my friend. "

Pierre wished at any rate to remain near her, but the entire space wasreserved to the sufferers, the bearers not being allowed there. So he hadto retire, and, caught in the rolling waves of the crowd, he foundhimself carried towards the piscinas, where he came upon an extraordinaryspectacle which stayed his steps. In front of the low buildings where thebaths were, three by three, six for the women and three for the men, heperceived under the trees a long stretch of ground enclosed by a ropefastened to the tree-trunks; and here, various sufferers, some sitting intheir bath-chairs and others lying on the mattresses of their litters, were drawn up in line, waiting to be bathed, whilst outside the rope, ahuge, excited throng was ever pressing and surging. A Capuchin, erect inthe centre of the reserved space, was at that moment conducting theprayers. "Aves" followed one after the other, repeated by the crowd in aloud confused murmur. Then, all at once, as Madame Vincent, who, palewith agony, had long been waiting, was admitted to the baths, carryingher dear burden, her little girl who looked like a waxen image of thechild Christ, the Capuchin let himself fall upon his knees with his armsextended, and cried aloud: "Lord, heal our sick!" He raised this cry adozen, twenty times, with a growing fury, and each time the crowdrepeated it, growing more and more excited at each shout, till it sobbedand kissed the ground in a state of frenzy. It was like a hurricane ofdelirium rushing by and laying every head in the dust. Pierre was utterlydistracted by the sob of suffering which arose from the very bowels ofthese poor folks--at first a prayer, growing louder and louder, thenbursting forth like a demand in impatient, angry, deafening, obstinateaccents, as though to compel the help of Heaven. "Lord, heal oursick!"--"Lord, heal our sick!" The shout soared on high incessantly. 

An incident occurred, however; La Grivotte was weeping hot tears becausethey would not bathe her. "They say that I'm a consumptive, " sheplaintively exclaimed, "and that they can't dip consumptives in coldwater. Yet they dipped one this morning; I saw her. So why won't they dipme? I've been wearing myself out for the last half-hour in telling themthat they are only grieving the Blessed Virgin, for I am going to becured, I feel it, I am going to be cured!"

As she was beginning to cause a scandal, one of the chaplains of thepiscinas approached and endeavoured to calm her. They would see what theycould do for her, by-and-by, said he; they would consult the reverendFathers, and, if she were very good, perhaps they would bathe her all thesame. 

Meantime the cry continued: "Lord, heal our sick! Lord, heal our sick!"And Pierre, who had just perceived Madame Vetu, also waiting at thepiscina entry, could no longer turn his eyes away from her hope-torturedface, whose eyes were fixed upon the doorway by which the happy ones, theelect, emerged from the divine presence, cured of all their ailments. However, a sudden increase of the crowd's frenzy, a perfect rage ofentreaties, gave him such a shock as to draw tears from his eyes. MadameVincent was now coming out again, still carrying her little girl in herarms, her wretched, her fondly loved little girl, who had been dipped ina fainting state in the icy water, and whose little face, but imperfectlywiped, was as pale as ever, and indeed even more woeful and lifeless. Themother was sobbing, crucified by this long agony, reduced to despair bythe refusal of the Blessed Virgin, who had remained insensible to herchild's sufferings. And yet when Madame Vetu in her turn entered, withthe eager passion of a dying woman about to drink the water of life, thehaunting, obstinate cry burst out again, without sign of discouragementor lassitude: "Lord, heal our sick! Lord, heal our sick!" The Capuchinhad now fallen with his face to the ground, and the howling crowd, witharms outstretched, devoured the soil with its kisses. 

Pierre wished to join Madame Vincent to soothe her with a few kind, encouraging words; however, a fresh string of pilgrims not only preventedhim from passing, but threw him towards the fountain which another throngbesieged. There was here quite a range of low buildings, a long stonewall with carved coping, and it had been necessary for the people to formin procession, although there were twelve taps from which the water fellinto a narrow basin. Many came hither to fill bottles, metal cans, andstoneware pitchers. To prevent too great a waste of water, the tap onlyacted when a knob was pressed with the hand. And thus many weak-handedwomen lingered there a long time, the water dripping on their feet. Thosewho had no cans to fill at least came to drink and wash their faces. Pierre noticed one young man who drank seven small glassfuls of water, and washed his eyes seven times without wiping them. Others were drinkingout of shells, tin goblets, and leather cups. And he was particularlyinterested by the sight of Elise Rouquet, who, thinking it useless to goto the piscinas to bathe the frightful sore which was eating away herface, had contented herself with employing the water of the fountain as alotion, every two hours since her arrival that morning. She knelt down, threw back her fichu, and for a long time applied a handkerchief to herface--a handkerchief which she had soaked with the miraculous fluid likea sponge; and the crowd around rushed upon the fountain in such fury thatfolks no longer noticed her diseased face, but washed themselves anddrank from the same pipe at which she constantly moistened herhandkerchief. 

Just then, however, Gerard, who passed by dragging M. Sabathier to thepiscinas, called to Pierre, whom he saw unoccupied, and asked him to comeand help him, for it would not be an easy task to move and bathe thishelpless victim of ataxia. And thus Pierre lingered with the sufferer inthe men's piscina for nearly half an hour, whilst Gerard returned to theGrotto to fetch another patient. These piscinas seemed to the youngpriest to be very well arranged. They were divided into threecompartments, three baths separated by partitions, with steps leadinginto them. In order that one might isolate the patient, a linen curtainhug before each entry, which was reached through a kind of waiting-roomhaving a paved floor, and furnished with a bench and a couple of chairs. Here the patients undressed and dressed themselves with an awkward haste, a nervous kind of shame. One man, whom Pierre found there when heentered, was still naked, and wrapped himself in the curtain beforeputting on a bandage with trembling hands. Another one, a consumptive whowas frightfully emaciated, sat shivering and groaning, his livid skinmottled with violet marks. However, Pierre became more interested inBrother Isidore, who was just being removed from one of the baths. He hadfainted away, and for a moment, indeed, it was thought that he was dead. But at last he began moaning again, and one's heart filled with pity atsight of his long, lank frame, which suffering had withered, and which, with his diseased hip, looked a human remnant on exhibition. The twohospitallers who had been bathing him had the greatest difficulty to puton his shirt, fearful as they were that if he were suddenly shaken hemight expire in their arms. 

"You will help me, Monsieur l'Abbe, won't you?" asked another hospitalleras he began to undress M. Sabathier. 

Pierre hastened to give his services, and found that the attendant, discharging such humble duties, was none other than the Marquis deSalmon-Roquebert whom M. De Guersaint had pointed out to him on the wayfrom the station to the hospital that morning. A man of forty, with alarge, aquiline, knightly nose set in a long face, the Marquis was thelast representative of one of the most ancient and illustrious familiesof France. Possessing a large fortune, a regal mansion in the Rue deLille at Paris, and vast estates in Normandy, he came to Lourdes eachyear, for the three days of the national pilgrimage, influenced solely byhis benevolent feelings, for he had no religious zeal and simply observedthe rites of the Church because it was customary for noblemen to do so. And he obstinately declined any high functions. Resolved to remain ahospitaller, he had that year assumed the duty of bathing the patients, exhausting the strength of his arms, employing his fingers from morningtill night in handling rags and re-applying dressings to sores. 

"Be careful, " he said to Pierre; "take off the stockings very slowly. Just now, some flesh came away when they were taking off the things ofthat poor fellow who is being dressed again, over yonder. "

Then, leaving M. Sabathier for a moment in order to put on the shoes ofthe unhappy sufferer whom he alluded to, the Marquis found the left shoewet inside. Some matter had flowed into the fore part of it, and he hadto take the usual medical precautions before putting it on the patient'sfoot, a task which he performed with extreme care; and so as not to touchthe man's leg, into which an ulcer was eating. 

"And now, " he said to Pierre, as he returned to M. Sabathier, "pull downthe drawers at the same time I do, so that we may get them off at onepull. "

In addition to the patients and the hospitallers selected for duty at thepiscinas, the only person in the little dressing-room was a chaplain whokept on repeating "Paters" and "Aves, " for not even a momentary pause wasallowed in the prayers. Merely a loose curtain hung before the doorwayleading to the open space which the rope enclosed; and the ardentclamorous entreaties of the throng were incessantly wafted into the room, with the piercing shouts of the Capuchin, who ever repeated "Lord, healour sick! Lord, heal our sick!" A cold light fell from the high windowsof the building and constant dampness reigned there, with the mouldysmell like that of a cellar dripping with water. 

At last M. Sabathier was stripped, divested of all garments save a littleapron which had been fastened about his loins for decency's sake. 

"Pray don't plunge me, " said he; "let me down into the water by degrees. "

In point of fact that cold water quite terrified him. He was still wontto relate that he had experienced such a frightful chilling sensation onthe first occasion that he had sworn never to go in again. According tohis account, there could be no worse torture than that icy cold. And thentoo, as he put it, the water was scarcely inviting; for, through fearlest the output of the source should not suffice, the Fathers of theGrotto only allowed the water of the baths to be changed twice a day. Andnearly a hundred patients being dipped in the same water, it can beimagined what a terrible soup the latter at last became. All manner ofthings were found in it, so that it was like a frightful _consomme_ ofall ailments, a field of cultivation for every kind of poisonous germ, aquintessence of the most dreaded contagious diseases; the miraculousfeature of it all being that men should emerge alive from their immersionin such filth. 

"Gently, gently, " repeated M. Sabathier to Pierre and the Marquis, whohad taken hold of him under the hips in order to carry him to the bath. And he gazed with childlike terror at that thick, livid water on whichfloated so many greasy, nauseating patches of scum. However, his dread ofthe cold was so great that he preferred the polluted baths of theafternoon, since all the bodies that were dipped in the water during theearly part of the day ended by slightly warming it. 

"We will let you slide down the steps, " exclaimed the Marquis in anundertone; and then he instructed Pierre to hold the patient with all hisstrength under the arm-pits. 

"Have no fear, " replied the priest; "I will not let go. "

M. Sabathier was then slowly lowered. You could now only see his back, his poor painful back which swayed and swelled, mottled by the ripplingof a shiver. And when they dipped him his head fell back in a spasm, asound like the cracking of bones was heard, and breathing hard, he almoststifled. 

The chaplain, standing beside the bath, had begun calling with renewedfervour: "Lord, heal our sick! Lord, heal our sick!"

M. De Salmon-Roquebert repeated the cry, which the regulations requiredthe hospitallers to raise at each fresh immersion. Pierre, therefore, hadto imitate his companion, and his pitiful feelings at the sight of somuch suffering were so intense that he regained some little of his faith. It was long indeed since he had prayed like this, devoutly wishing thatthere might be a God in heaven, whose omnipotence could assuage thewretchedness of humanity. At the end of three or four minutes, however, when with great difficulty they drew M. Sabathier, livid and shivering, out of the bath, the young priest fell into deeper, more despairingsorrow than ever at beholding how downcast, how overwhelmed the suffererwas at having experienced no relief. Again had he made a futile attempt;for the seventh time the Blessed Virgin had not deigned to listen to hisprayers. He closed his eyes, from between the lids of which big tearsbegan to roll while they were dressing him again. 

Then Pierre recognised little Gustave Vigneron coming in, on his crutch, to take his first bath. His relatives, his father, his mother, and hisaunt, Madame Chaise, all three of substantial appearance and exemplarypiety, had just fallen on their knees at the door. Whispers ran throughthe crowd; it was said that the gentleman was a functionary of theMinistry of Finances. However, while the child was beginning to undress, a tumult arose, and Father Fourcade and Father Massias, suddenlyarriving, gave orders to suspend the immersions. The great miracle wasabout to be attempted, the extraordinary favour which had been soardently prayed for since the morning--the restoration of the dead man tolife. 

The prayers were continuing outside, rising in a furious appeal whichdied away in the sky of that warm summer afternoon. Two bearers came inwith a covered stretcher, which they deposited in the middle of thedressing-room. Baron Suire, President of the Association, followed, accompanied by Berthaud, one of its principal officers, for the affairwas causing a great stir among the whole staff, and before anything wasdone a few words were exchanged in low voices between the gentlemen andthe two Fathers of the Assumption. Then the latter fell upon their knees, with arms extended, and began to pray, their faces illumined, transfigured by their burning desire to see God's omnipotence displayed. 

"Lord, hear us! Lord, grant our prayer!"

M. Sabathier had just been taken away, and the only patient now presentwas little Gustave, who had remained on a chair, half-undressed andforgotten. The curtains of the stretcher were raised, and the man'scorpse appeared, already stiff, and seemingly reduced and shrunken, withlarge eyes which had obstinately remained wide open. It was necessary, however, to undress the body, which was still fully clad, and thisterrible duty made the bearers momentarily hesitate. Pierre noticed thatthe Marquis de Salmon-Roquebert, who showed such devotion to the living, such freedom from all repugnance whenever they were in question, had nowdrawn aside and fallen on his knees, as though to avoid the necessity oftouching that lifeless corpse. And the young priest thereupon followedhis example, and knelt near him in order to keep countenance. 

Father Massias meanwhile was gradually becoming excited, praying in soloud a voice that it drowned that of his superior, Father Fourcade:"Lord, restore our brother to us!" he cried. "Lord, do it for Thy glory!"

One of the hospitallers had already begun to pull at the man's trousers, but his legs were so stiff that the garment would not come off. In factthe corpse ought to have been raised up; and the other hospitaller, whowas unbuttoning the dead man's old frock coat, remarked in an undertonethat it would be best to cut everything away with a pair of scissors. Otherwise there would be no end of the job. 

Berthaud, however, rushed up to them, after rapidly consulting BaronSuire. As a politician he secretly disapproved of Father Fourcade'saction in making such an attempt, only they could not now do otherwisethan carry matters to an issue; for the crowd was waiting and had beenentreating God on the dead man's behalf ever since the morning. Thewisest course, therefore, was to finish with the affair at once, showingas much respect as possible for the remains of the deceased. In lieu, therefore, of pulling the corpse about in order to strip it bare, Berthaud was of opinion that it would be better to dip it in the piscinaclad as it was. Should the man resuscitate, it would be easy to procurefresh clothes for him; and in the contrary event, no harm would have beendone. This is what he hastily said to the bearers; and forthwith hehelped them to pass some straps under the man's hips and arms. 

Father Fourcade had nodded his approval of this course, whilst FatherMassias prayed with increased fervour: "Breathe upon him, O Lord, and heshall be born anew! Restore his soul to him, O, Lord, that he may glorifyThee!"

Making an effort, the two hospitallers now raised the man by means of thestraps, carried him to the bath, and slowly lowered him into the water, at each moment fearing that he would slip away from their hold. Pierre, although overcome by horror, could not do otherwise than look at them, and thus he distinctly beheld the immersion of this corpse in its sorrygarments, which on being wetted clung to the bones, outlining theskeleton-like figure of the deceased, who floated like a man who has beendrowned. But the repulsive part of it all was, that in spite of the_rigor mortis_, the head fell backward into the water, and was submergedby it. In vain did the hospitallers try to raise it by pulling theshoulder straps; as they made the attempt, the man almost sank to thebottom of the bath. And how could he have recovered his breath when hismouth was full of water, his staring eyes seemingly dying afresh, beneaththat watery veil?

Then, during the three long minutes allowed for the immersion, the twoFathers of the Assumption and the chaplain, in a paroxysm of desire andfaith, strove to compel the intervention of Heaven, praying in such loudvoices that they seemed to choke. 

"Do Thou but look on him, O Lord, and he will live again! Lord! may herise at Thy voice to convert the earth! Lord! Thou hast but one word tosay and all Thy people will acclaim Thee!"

At last, as though some vessel had broken in his throat, Father Massiasfell groaning and choking on his elbows, with only enough strength lefthim to kiss the flagstones. And from without came the clamour of thecrowd, the ever-repeated cry, which the Capuchin was still leading:"Lord, heal our sick! Lord, heal our sick!" This appeal seemed sosingular at that moment, that Pierre's sufferings were increased. Hecould feel, too, that the Marquis was shuddering beside him. And so therelief was general when Berthaud, thoroughly annoyed with the wholebusiness, curtly shouted to the hospitallers: "Take him out! Take him outat once!"

The body was removed from the bath and laid on the stretcher, lookinglike the corpse of a drowned man with its sorry garments clinging to itslimbs. The water was trickling from the hair, and rivulets began fallingon either side, spreading out in pools on the floor. And naturally, deadas the man had been, dead he remained. 

The others had all risen and stood looking at him amidst a distressingsilence. Then, as he was covered up and carried away, Father Fourcadefollowed the bier leaning on the shoulder of Father Massias and dragginghis gouty leg, the painful weight of which he had momentarily forgotten. But he was already recovering his strong serenity, and as a hush fellupon the crowd outside, he could be heard saying: "My dear brothers, mydear sisters, God has not been willing to restore him to us, doubtlessbecause in His infinite goodness He has desired to retain him among Hiselect. "

And that was all; there was no further question of the dead man. Patientswere again being brought into the dressing-room, the two other baths werealready occupied. And now little Gustave, who had watched that terriblescene with his keen inquisitive eyes, evincing no sign of terror, finished undressing himself. His wretched body, the body of a scrofulouschild, appeared with its prominent ribs and projecting spine, its limbsso thin that they looked like mere walking-sticks. Especially was thisthe case as regards the left one, which was withered, wasted to the bone;and he also had two sores, one on the hip, and the other in the loins, the last a terrible one, the skin being eaten away so that you distinctlysaw the raw flesh. Yet he smiled, rendered so precocious by hissufferings that, although but fifteen years old and looking no more thanten, he seemed to be endowed with the reason and philosophy of a grownman. 

The Marquis de Salmon-Roquebert, who had taken him gently in his arms, refused Pierre's offer of service: "Thanks, but he weighs no more than abird. And don't be frightened, my dear little fellow. I will do itgently. "

"Oh, I am not afraid of cold water, monsieur, " replied the boy; "you mayduck me. "

Then he was lowered into the bath in which the dead man had been dipped. Madame Vigneron and Madame Chaise, who were not allowed to enter, hadremained at the door on their knees, whilst the father, M. Vigneron, whowas admitted into the dressing-room, went on making the sign of thecross. 

Finding that his services were no longer required, Pierre now departed. The sudden idea that three o'clock must have long since struck and thatMarie must be waiting for him made him hasten his steps. However, whilsthe was endeavouring to pierce the crowd, he saw the girl arrive in herlittle conveyance, dragged along by Gerard, who had not ceasedtransporting sufferers to the piscina. She had become impatient, suddenlyfilled with a conviction that she was at last in a frame of mind to findgrace. And at sight of Pierre she reproached him, saying, "What, myfriend, did you forget me?"

He could find no answer, but watched her as she was taken into thepiscina reserved for women, and then, in mortal sorrow, fell upon hisknees. It was there that he would wait for her, humbly kneeling, in orderthat he might take her back to the Grotto, cured without doubt andsinging a hymn of praise. Since she was certain of it, would she notassuredly be cured? However, it was in vain that he sought for words ofprayer in the depths of his distracted being. He was still under the blowof all the terrible things that he had beheld, worn out with physicalfatigue, his brain depressed, no longer knowing what he saw or what hebelieved. His desperate affection for Marie alone remained, making himlong to humble himself and supplicate, in the thought that when littleones really love and entreat the powerful they end by obtaining favours. And at last he caught himself repeating the prayers of the crowd, in adistressful voice that came from the depths of his being "Lord, heal oursick! Lord, heal our sick!"

Ten minutes, a quarter of an hour perhaps, went by. Then Marie reappearedin her little conveyance. Her face was very pale and wore an expressionof despair. Her beautiful hair was fastened above her head in a heavygolden coil which the water had not touched. And she was not cured. Thestupor of infinite discouragement hollowed and lengthened her face, andshe averted her eyes as though to avoid meeting those of the priest whothunderstruck, chilled to the heart, at last made up his mind to graspthe handle of the little vehicle, so as to take the girl back to theGrotto. 

And meantime the cry of the faithful, who with open arms were kneelingthere and kissing the earth, again rose with a growing fury, excited bythe Capuchin's shrill voice: "Lord, heal our sick! Heal our sick, OLord!"

As Pierre was placing Marie in position again in front of the Grotto, anattack of weakness came over her and she almost fainted. Gerard, who wasthere, saw Raymonde quickly hurry to the spot with a cup of broth, and atonce they began zealously rivalling each other in their attentions to theailing girl. Raymonde, holding out the cup in a pretty way, and assumingthe coaxing airs of an expert nurse, especially insisted that Marieshould accept the bouillon; and Gerard, glancing at this portionlessgirl, could not help finding her charming, already expert in the businessof life, and quite ready to manage a household with a firm hand withoutceasing to be amiable. Berthaud was no doubt right, this was the wifethat he, Gerard, needed. 

"Mademoiselle, " said he to Raymonde, "shall I raise the young lady alittle?"

"Thank you, monsieur, I am quite strong enough. And besides I will giveit to her in spoonfuls; that will be the better way. "

Marie, however, obstinately preserving her fierce silence as sherecovered consciousness, refused the broth with a gesture. She wished tobe left in quietness, she did not want anybody to question her. And itwas only when the others had gone off smiling at one another, that shesaid to Pierre in a husky voice: "Has not my father come then?"

After hesitating for a moment the priest was obliged to confess thetruth. "I left him sleeping and he cannot have woke up. "

Then Marie relapsed into her state of languid stupor and dismissed him inhis turn, with the gesture with which she declined all succour. She nolonger prayed, but remained quite motionless, gazing fixedly with herlarge eyes at the marble Virgin, the white statue amidst the radiance ofthe Grotto. And as four o'clock was now striking, Pierre with his heartsore went off to the Verification Office, having suddenly remembered theappointment given him by Doctor Chassaigne. 

IV. VERIFICATION

THE doctor was waiting for the young priest outside the VerificationOffice, in front of which a compact and feverish crowd of pilgrims wasassembled, waylaying and questioning the patients who went in, andacclaiming them as they came out whenever the news spread of any miracle, such as the restoration of some blind man's sight, some deaf woman'shearing, or some paralytic's power of motion. 

Pierre had no little difficulty in making his way through the throng, butat last he reached his friend. "Well, " he asked, "are we going to have amiracle--a real, incontestable one I mean?"

The doctor smiled, indulgent despite his new faith. "Ah, well, " said he, "a miracle is not worked to order. God intervenes when He pleases. "

Some hospitallers were mounting guard at the door, but they all knew M. Chassaigne, and respectfully drew aside to let him enter with hiscompanion. The office where the cures were verified was very badlyinstalled in a wretched wooden shanty divided into two apartments, firsta narrow ante-chamber, and then a general meeting room which was by nomeans so large as it should have been. However, there was a question ofproviding the department with better accommodation the following year;with which view some large premises, under one of the inclined ways ofthe Rosary, were already being fitted up. 

The only article of furniture in the antechamber was a wooden bench onwhich Pierre perceived two female patients awaiting their turn in thecharge of a young hospitaller. But on entering the meeting room thenumber of persons packed inside it quite surprised him, whilst thesuffocating heat within those wooden walls on which the sun was sofiercely playing, almost scorched his face. It was a square bare room, painted a light yellow, with the panes of its single window covered withwhitening, so that the pressing throng outside might see nothing of whatwent on within. One dared not even open this window to admit a littlefresh air, for it was no sooner set ajar than a crowd of inquisitiveheads peeped in. The furniture was of a very rudimentary kind, consistingsimply of two deal tables of unequal height placed end to end and noteven covered with a cloth; together with a kind of big "canterbury"littered with untidy papers, sets of documents, registers and pamphlets, and finally some thirty rush-seated chairs placed here and there over thefloor and a couple of ragged arm-chairs usually reserved for thepatients. 

Doctor Bonamy at once hastened forward to greet Doctor Chassaigne, whowas one of the latest and most glorious conquests of the Grotto. He founda chair for him and, bowing to Pierre's cassock, also made the youngpriest sit down. Then, in the tone of extreme politeness which wascustomary with him, he exclaimed: "_Mon cher confrere_, you will kindlyallow me to continue. We were just examining mademoiselle. "

He referred to a deaf peasant girl of twenty, who was seated in one ofthe arm-chairs. Instead of listening, however, Pierre, who was veryweary, still with a buzzing in his head, contented himself with gazing atthe scene, endeavouring to form some notion of the people assembled inthe room. There were some fifty altogether, many of them standing andleaning against the walls. Half a dozen, however, were seated at the twotables, a central position being occupied by the superintendent of thepiscinas, who was constantly consulting a thick register; whilst aroundhim were a Father of the Assumption and three young seminarists who actedas secretaries, writing, searching for documents, passing them andclassifying them again after each examination. Pierre, however, took mostinterest in a Father of the Immaculate Conception, Father Dargeles, whohad been pointed out to him that morning as being the editor of the"Journal de la Grotte. " This ecclesiastic, whose thin little face, withits blinking eyes, pointed nose, and delicate mouth was ever smiling, hadmodestly seated himself at the end of the lower table where heoccasionally took notes for his newspaper. He alone, of the community towhich he belonged, showed himself during the three days of the nationalpilgrimage. Behind him, however, one could divine the presence of all theothers, the slowly developed hidden power which organised everything andraked in all the proceeds. 

The onlookers consisted almost entirely of inquisitive people andwitnesses, including a score of doctors and a few priests. The medicalmen, who had come from all parts, mostly preserved silence, only a few ofthem occasionally venturing to ask a question; and every now and thenthey would exchange oblique glances, more occupied apparently in watchingone another than in verifying the facts submitted to their examination. Who could they be? Some names were mentioned, but they were quiteunknown. Only one had caused any stir, that of a celebrated doctor, professor at a Catholic university. 

That afternoon, however, Doctor Bonamy, who never sat down, busy as hewas conducting the proceedings and questioning the patients, reservedmost of his attentions for a short, fair-haired man, a writer of sometalent who contributed to one of the most widely read Paris newspapers, and who, in the course of a holiday tour, had by chance reached Lourdesthat morning. Was not this an unbeliever whom it might be possible toconvert, whose influence it would be desirable to gain foradvertisement's sake? Such at all events appeared to be M. Bonamy'sopinion, for he had compelled the journalist to take the secondarm-chair, and with an affectation of smiling good-nature was treatinghim to a full performance, again and again repeating that he and hispatrons had nothing to hide, and that everything took place in the mostopen manner. 

"We only desire light, " he exclaimed. "We never cease to call for theinvestigations of all willing men. "

Then, as the alleged cure of the deaf girl did not seem at all apromising case, he addressed her somewhat roughly: "Come, come, my girl, this is only a beginning. You must come back when there are more distinctsigns of improvement. " And turning to the journalist he added in anundertone: "If we were to believe them they would all be healed. But theonly cures we accept are those which are thoroughly proven, which are asapparent as the sun itself. Pray notice moreover that I say cures and notmiracles; for we doctors do not take upon ourselves to interpret andexplain. We are simply here to see if the patients, who submit themselvesto our examination, have really lost all symptoms of their ailments. "

Thereupon he struck an attitude. Doubtless he spoke like this in orderthat his rectitude might not be called in question. Believing withoutbelieving, he knew that science was yet so obscure, so full of surprises, that what seemed impossible might always come to pass; and thus, in thedeclining years of his life, he had contrived to secure an exceptionalposition at the Grotto, a position which had both its inconveniences andits advantages, but which, taken for all in all, was very comfortable andpleasant. 

And now, in reply to a question from the Paris journalist, he began toexplain his mode of proceeding. Each patient who accompanied thepilgrimage arrived provided with papers, amongst which there was almostalways a certificate of the doctor who had been attending the case. Attimes even there were certificates given by several doctors, hospitalbulletins and so forth--quite a record of the illness in its variousstages. And thus if a cure took place and the cured person came forward, it was only necessary to consult his or her set of documents in order toascertain the nature of the ailment, and then examination would show ifthat ailment had really disappeared. 

Pierre was now listening. Since he had been there, seated and restinghimself, he had grown calmer, and his mind was clear once more. It wasonly the heat which at present caused him any inconvenience. And thus, interested as he was by Doctor Bonamy's explanations, and desirous offorming an opinion, he would have spoken out and questioned, had it notbeen for his cloth which condemned him to remain in the background. Hewas delighted, therefore, when the little fair-haired gentleman, theinfluential writer, began to bring forward the objections which at onceoccurred to him. * Was it not most unfortunate that one doctor shoulddiagnose the illness and that another one should verify the cure? In thismode of proceeding there was certainly a source of frequent error. Thebetter plan would have been for a medical commission to examine all thepatients as soon as they arrived at Lourdes and draw up reports on everycase, to which reports the same commission would have referred wheneveran alleged cure was brought before it. Doctor Bonamy, however, did notfall in with this suggestion. He replied, with some reason, that acommission would never suffice for such gigantic labour. Just think ofit! A thousand patients to examine in a single morning! And how manydifferent theories there would be, how many contrary diagnoses, how manyendless discussions, all of a nature to increase the general uncertainty!The preliminary examination of the patients, which was almost alwaysimpossible, would, even if attempted, leave the door open for as manyerrors as the present system. In practice, it was necessary to remaincontent with the certificates delivered by the medical men who had beenin attendance on the patients, and these certificates accordinglyacquired capital, decisive importance. Doctor Bonamy ran through thedocuments lying on one of the tables and gave the Paris journalist someof these certificates to read. A great many of them unfortunately werevery brief. Others, more skilfully drawn up, clearly specified the natureof the complaint; and some of the doctors' signatures were even certifiedby the mayors of the localities where they resided. Nevertheless doubtsremained, innumerable and not to be surmounted. Who were these doctors?Who could tell if they possessed sufficient scientific authority to writeas they did? With all respect to the medical profession, were there notinnumerable doctors whose attainments were very limited? And, besides, might not these have been influenced by circumstances that one knewnothing of, in some cases by considerations of a personal character? Onewas tempted to ask for an inquiry respecting each of these medical men. Since everything was based on the documents supplied by the patients, these documents ought to have been most carefully controlled; for therecould be no proof of any miracle if the absolute certainty of the allegedailments had not been demonstrated by stringent examination. 

 * The reader will doubtless have understood that the Parisian journalist is none other than M. Zola himself--Trans. 

Very red and covered with perspiration, Doctor Bonamy waved his arms. "But that is the course we follow, that is the course we follow!" saidhe. "As soon as it seems to us that a case of cure cannot be explained bynatural means, we institute a minute inquiry, we request the person whohas been cured to return here for further examination. And as you cansee, we surround ourselves with all means of enlightenment. Thesegentlemen here, who are listening to us, are nearly every one of themdoctors who have come from all parts of France. We always entreat them toexpress their doubts if they feel any, to discuss the cases with us, anda very detailed report of each discussion is drawn up. You hear me, gentlemen; by all means protest if anything occurs here of a nature tooffend your sense of truth. "

Not one of the onlookers spoke. Most of the doctors present wereundoubtedly Catholics, and naturally enough they merely bowed. As for theothers, the unbelievers, the _savants_ pure and simple, they looked onand evinced some interest in certain phenomena, but considerations ofcourtesy deterred them from entering into discussions which they knewwould have been useless. When as men of sense their discomfort became toogreat, and they felt themselves growing angry, they simply left the room. 

As nobody breathed a word, Doctor Bonamy became quite triumphant, and onthe journalist asking him if he were all alone to accomplish so muchwork, he replied: "Yes, all alone; but my functions as doctor of theGrotto are not so complicated as you may think, for, I repeat it, theysimply consist in verifying cures whenever any take place. " However, hecorrected himself, and added with a smile: "All! I was forgetting, I amnot quite alone, I have Raboin, who helps me to keep things a little bitin order here. "

So saying, he pointed to a stout, grey-haired man of forty, with a heavyface and bull-dog jaw. Raboin was an ardent believer, one of thoseexcited beings who did not allow the miracles to be called in question. And thus he often suffered from his duties at the Verification Office, where he was ever ready to growl with anger when anybody disputed aprodigy. The appeal to the doctors had made him quite lose his temper, and his superior had to calm him. 

"Come, Raboin, my friend, be quiet!" said Doctor Bonamy. "All sincereopinions are entitled to a hearing. "

However, the _defile_ of patients was resumed. A man was now brought inwhose trunk was so covered with eczema that when he took off his shirt akind of grey flour fell from his skin. He was not cured, but simplydeclared that he came to Lourdes every year, and always went away feelingrelieved. Then came a lady, a countess, who was fearfully emaciated, andwhose story was an extraordinary one. Cured of tuberculosis by theBlessed Virgin, a first time, seven years previously, she hadsubsequently given birth to four children, and had then again fallen intoconsumption. At present she was a morphinomaniac, but her first bath hadalready relieved her so much, that she proposed taking part in thetorchlight procession that same evening with the twenty-seven members ofher family whom she had brought with her to Lourdes. Then there was awoman afflicted with nervous aphonia, who after months of absolutedumbness had just recovered her voice at the moment when the BlessedSacrament went by at the head of the four o'clock procession. 

"Gentlemen, " declared Doctor Bonamy, affecting the graciousness of a_savant_ of extremely liberal views, "as you are aware, we do not drawany conclusions when a nervous affection is in question. Still you willkindly observe that this woman was treated at the Salpetriere for sixmonths, and that she had to come here to find her tongue suddenlyloosened. "

Despite all these fine words he displayed some little impatience, for hewould have greatly liked to show the gentleman from Paris one of thoseremarkable instances of cure which occasionally presented themselvesduring the four o'clock procession--that being the moment of grace andexaltation when the Blessed Virgin interceded for those whom she hadchosen. But on this particular afternoon there had apparently been none. The cures which had so far passed before them were doubtful ones, deficient in interest. Meanwhile, out-of-doors, you could hear thestamping and roaring of the crowd, goaded into a frenzy by repeatedhymns, enfevered by its earnest desire for the Divine interposition, andgrowing more and more enervated by the delay. 

All at once, however, a smiling, modest-looking young girl, whose cleareyes sparkled with intelligence, entered the office. "Ah!" exclaimedDoctor Bonamy joyously, "here is our little friend Sophie. A remarkablecure, gentlemen, which took place at the same season last year, and theresults of which I will ask permission to show you. "

Pierre had immediately recognized Sophie Couteau, the _miraculee_ who hadgot into the train at Poitiers. And he now witnessed a repetition of thescene which had already been enacted in his presence. Doctor Bonamy begangiving detailed explanations to the little fair-haired gentleman, whodisplayed great attention. The case, said the doctor, had been one ofcaries of the bones of the left heel, with a commencement of necrosisnecessitating excision; and yet the frightful, suppurating sore had beenhealed in a minute at the first immersion in the piscina. 

"Tell the gentlemen how it happened, Sophie, " he added. 

The little girl made her usual pretty gesture as a sign to everybody tobe attentive. And then she began: "Well, it was like this; my foot waspast cure, I couldn't even go to church any more, and it had to be keptbandaged because there was always a lot of matter coming from it. Monsieur Rivoire, the doctor, who had made a cut in it so as to seeinside it, said that he should be obliged to take out a piece of thebone; and that, sure enough, would have made me lame for life. But when Igot to Lourdes, and had prayed a great deal to the Blessed Virgin, I wentto dip my foot in the water, wishing so much that I might be cured, thatI did not even take the time to pull the bandages off. And everythingremained in the water; there was no longer anything the matter with myfoot when I took it out. "

Doctor Bonamy listened, and punctuated each word with an approving nod. "And what did your doctor say, Sophie?" he asked. 

"When I got back to Vivonne, and Monsieur Rivoire saw my foot again, hesaid: 'Whether it be God or the Devil who has cured this child, it is allthe same to me; but in all truth, she is cured. '"

A burst of laughter rang out. The doctor's remark was sure to produce aneffect. 

"And what was it, Sophie, that you said to Madame la Comtesse, thesuperintendent of your ward?"

"Ah, yes! I hadn't brought many bandages for my foot with me, and I saidto her, 'It was very kind of the Blessed Virgin to cure me the first day, as I should have run out of linen on the morrow. '"

Then there was fresh laughter, a general display of satisfaction atseeing her look so pretty, telling her story, which she now knew byheart, in too recitative a manner, but, nevertheless, remaining verytouching and truthful in appearance. 

"Take off your shoe, Sophie, " now said Doctor Bonamy; "show your foot tothese gentlemen. Let them feel it. Nobody must retain any doubt. "

The little foot promptly appeared, very white, very clean, carefullytended indeed, with its scar just below the ankle, a long scar, whosewhity seam testified to the gravity of the complaint. Some of the medicalmen had drawn near, and looked on in silence. Others, whose opinions, nodoubt, were already formed, did not disturb themselves, though one ofthem, with an air of extreme politeness, inquired why the Blessed Virginhad not made a new foot while she was about it, for this would assuredlyhave given her no more trouble. Doctor Bonamy, however, quickly replied, that if the Blessed Virgin had left a scar, it was certainly in orderthat a trace, a proof of the miracle, might remain. Then he entered intotechnical particulars, demonstrating that a fragment of bone and fleshmust have been instantly formed, and this, of course, could not beexplained in any natural way. 

"_Mon Dieu_!" interrupted the little fair-haired gentleman, "there is noneed of any such complicated affair. Let me merely see a finger cut witha penknife, let me see it dipped in the water, and let it come out withthe cut cicatrised. The miracle will be quite as great, and I shall bowto it respectfully. " Then he added: "If I possessed a source which couldthus close up sores and wounds, I would turn the world topsy-turvy. I donot know exactly how I should manage it, but at all events I would summonthe nations, and the nations would come. I should cause the miracles tobe verified in such an indisputable manner, that I should be the masterof the earth. Just think what an extraordinary power it would be--adivine power. But it would be necessary that not a doubt should remain, the truth would have to be as patent, as apparent as the sun itself. Thewhole world would behold it and believe!"

Then he began discussing various methods of control with the doctor. Hehad admitted that, owing to the great number of patients, it would bedifficult, if not impossible, to examine them all on their arrival. Only, why didn't they organise a special ward at the hospital, a ward whichwould be reserved for cases of visible sores? They would have thirty suchcases all told, which might be subjected to the preliminary examinationof a committee. Authentic reports would be drawn up, and the sores mighteven be photographed. Then, if a case of cure should present itself, thecommission would merely have to authenticate it by a fresh report. And inall this there would be no question of any internal complaint, thediagnostication of which is difficult, and liable to be controverted. There would be visible evidence of the ailment, and cure could be proved. 

Somewhat embarrassed, Doctor Bonamy replied: "No doubt, no doubt; all weask for is enlightenment. The difficulty would be in forming thecommittee you speak of. If you only knew how little medical men agree!However, there is certainly an idea in what you say. "

Fortunately a fresh patient now came to his assistance. Whilst littleSophie Couteau, already forgotten, was putting on, her shoes again, EliseRouquet appeared, and, removing her wrap, displayed her diseased face toview. She related that she had been bathing it with her handkerchief eversince the morning, and it seemed to her that her sore, previously sofresh and raw, was already beginning to dry and grow paler in colour. This was true; Pierre noticed, with great surprise, that the aspect ofthe sore was now less horrible. This supplied fresh food for thediscussion on visible sores, for the little fair-haired gentleman clungobstinately to his idea of organising a special ward. Indeed, said he, ifthe condition of this girl had been verified that morning, and she shouldbe cured, what a triumph it would have been for the Grotto, which couldhave claimed to have healed a lupus! It would then have no longer beenpossible to deny that miracles were worked. 

Doctor Chassaigne had so far kept in the background, motionless andsilent, as though he desired that the facts alone should exercise theirinfluence on Pierre. But he now leant forward and said to him in anundertone: "Visible sores, visible sores indeed! That gentleman can haveno idea that our most learned medical men suspect many of these sores tobe of nervous origin. Yes, we are discovering that complaints of thiskind are often simply due to bad nutrition of the skin. These questionsof nutrition are still so imperfectly studied and understood! And somemedical men are also beginning to prove that the faith which heals caneven cure sores, certain forms of lupus among others. And so I would askwhat certainty that gentleman would obtain with his ward for visiblesores? There would simply be a little more confusion and passion inarguing the eternal question. No, no! Science is vain, it is a sea ofuncertainty. "

He smiled sorrowfully whilst Doctor Bonamy, after advising Elise Rouquetto continue using the water as lotion and to return each day for furtherexamination, repeated with his prudent, affable air: "At all events, gentlemen, there are signs of improvement in this case--that is beyonddoubt. "

But all at once the office was fairly turned topsy-turvy by the arrivalof La Grivotte, who swept in like a whirlwind, almost dancing withdelight and shouting in a full voice: "I am cured! I am cured!"

And forthwith she began to relate that they had first of all refused tobathe her, and that she had been obliged to insist and beg and sob inorder to prevail upon them to do so, after receiving Father Fourcade'sexpress permission. And then it had all happened as she had previouslysaid it would. She had not been immersed in the icy water for threeminutes--all perspiring as she was with her consumptive rattle--beforeshe had felt strength returning to her like a whipstroke lashing herwhole body. And now a flaming excitement possessed her; radiant, stampingher feet, she was unable to keep still. 

"I am cured, my good gentlemen, I am cured!"

Pierre looked at her, this time quite stupefied. Was this the same girlwhom, on the previous night, he had seen lying on the carriage seat, annihilated, coughing and spitting blood, with her face of ashen hue? Hecould not recognise her as she now stood there, erect and slender, hercheeks rosy, her eyes sparkling, upbuoyed by a determination to live, ajoy in living already. 

"Gentlemen, " declared Doctor Bonamy, "the case appears to me to be a veryinteresting one. We will see. "

Then he asked for the documents concerning La Grivotte. But they couldnot be found among all the papers heaped together on the tables. Theyoung seminarists who acted as secretaries began turning everything over;and the superintendent of the piscinas who sat in their midst himself hadto get up to see if these documents were in the "canterbury. " At last, when he had sat down again, he found them under the register which layopen before him. Among them were three medical certificates which he readaloud. All three of them agreed in stating that the case was one ofadvanced phthisis, complicated by nervous incidents which invested itwith a peculiar character. 

Doctor Bonamy wagged his head as though to say that such an _ensemble_ oftestimony could leave no room for doubt. Forthwith, he subjected thepatient to a prolonged auscultation. And he murmured: "I hear nothing--Ihear nothing. " Then, correcting himself, he added: "At least I hearscarcely anything. "

Finally he turned towards the five-and-twenty or thirty doctors who wereassembled there in silence. "Will some of you gentlemen, " he asked, "kindly lend me the help of your science? We are here to study anddiscuss these questions. "

At first nobody stirred. Then there was one who ventured to come forwardand, in his turn subject the patient to auscultation. But instead ofdeclaring himself, he continued reflecting, shaking his head anxiously. At last he stammered that in his opinion one must await furtherdevelopments. Another doctor, however, at once took his place, and thisone expressed a decided opinion. He could hear nothing at all, that womancould never have suffered from phthisis. Then others followed him; infact, with the exception of five or six whose smiling faces remainedimpenetrable, they all joined the _defile_. And the confusion nowattained its apogee; for each gave an opinion sensibly differing fromthat of his colleagues, so that a general uproar arose and one could nolonger hear oneself speak. Father Dargeles alone retained the calmness ofperfect serenity, for he had scented one of those cases which impassionpeople and redound to the glory of Our Lady of Lourdes. He was alreadytaking notes on a corner of the table. 

Thanks to all the noise of the discussion, Pierre and Doctor Chassaigne, seated at some distance from the others, were now able to talk togetherwithout being heard. "Oh! those piscinas!" said the young priest, "I havejust seen them. To think that the water should be so seldom changed! Whatfilth it is, what a soup of microbes! What a terrible blow for thepresent-day mania, that rage for antiseptic precautions! How is it thatsome pestilence does not carry off all these poor people? The opponentsof the microbe theory must be having a good laugh--"

M. Chassaigne stopped him. "No, no, my child, " said he. "The baths may bescarcely clean, but they offer no danger. Please notice that thetemperature of the water never rises above fifty degrees, and thatseventy-seven are necessary for the cultivation of germs. * Besides, scarcely any contagious diseases come to Lourdes, neither cholera, nortyphus, nor variola, nor measles, nor scarlatina. We only see certainorganic affections here, paralysis, scrofula, tumours, ulcers andabscesses, cancers and phthisis; and the latter cannot be transmitted bythe water of the baths. The old sores which are bathed have nothing tofear, and offer no risk of contagion. I can assure you that on this pointthere is even no necessity for the Blessed Virgin to intervene. "

 * The above are Fahrenheit degrees. --Trans. 

"Then, in that case, doctor, " rejoined Pierre, "when you were practising, you would have dipped all your patients in icy water--women at no matterwhat season, rheumatic patients, people suffering from diseases of theheart, consumptives, and so on? For instance, that unhappy girl, halfdead, and covered with sweat--would you have bathed her?"

"Certainly not! There are heroic methods of treatment to which, inpractice, one does not dare to have recourse. An icy bath may undoubtedlykill a consumptive; but do we know, whether, in certain circumstances, itmight not save her? I, who have ended by admitting that a supernaturalpower is at work here, I willingly admit that some cures must take placeunder natural conditions, thanks to that immersion in cold water whichseems to us idiotic and barbarous. Ah! the things we don't know, thethings we don't know!"

He was relapsing into his anger, his hatred of science, which he scornedsince it had left him scared and powerless beside the deathbed of hiswife and his daughter. "You ask for certainties, " he resumed, "butassuredly it is not medicine which will give you them. Listen for amoment to those gentlemen and you will be edified. Is it not beautiful, all that confusion in which so many opinions clash together? Certainlythere are ailments with which one is thoroughly acquainted, even to themost minute details of their evolution; there are remedies also, theeffects of which have been studied with the most scrupulous care; but thething that one does not know, that one cannot know, is the relation ofthe remedy to the ailment, for there are as many cases as there may bepatients, each liable to variation, so that experimentation begins afreshevery time. This is why the practice of medicine remains an art, forthere can be no experimental finality in it. Cure always depends onchance, on some fortunate circumstance, on some bright idea of thedoctor's. And so you will understand that all the people who come anddiscuss here make me laugh when they talk about the absolute laws ofscience. Where are those laws in medicine? I should like to have themshown to me. "

He did not wish to say any more, but his passion carried him away, so hewent on: "I told you that I had become a believer--nevertheless, to speakthe truth, I understand very well why this worthy Doctor Bonamy is solittle affected, and why he continues calling upon doctors in all partsof the world to come and study his miracles. The more doctors that mightcome, the less likelihood there would be of the truth being establishedin the inevitable battle between contradictory diagnoses and methods oftreatment. If men cannot agree about a visible sore, they surely cannotdo so about an internal lesion the existence of which will be admitted bysome, and denied by others. And why then should not everything become amiracle? For, after all, whether the action comes from nature or fromsome unknown power, medical men are, as a rule, none the less astonishedwhen an illness terminates in a manner which they have not foreseen. Nodoubt, too, things are very badly organised here. Those certificates fromdoctors whom nobody knows have no real value. All documents ought to bestringently inquired into. But even admitting any absolute scientificstrictness, you must be very simple, my dear child, if you imagine that apositive conviction would be arrived at, absolute for one and all. Erroris implanted in man, and there is no more difficult task than that ofdemonstrating to universal satisfaction the most insignificant truth. "

Pierre had now begun to understand what was taking place at Lourdes, theextraordinary spectacle which the world had been witnessing for years, amidst the reverent admiration of some and the insulting laughter ofothers. Forces as yet but imperfectly studied, of which one was evenignorant, were certainly at work--auto-suggestion, long prepareddisturbance of the nerves; inspiriting influence of the journey, theprayers, and the hymns; and especially the healing breath, the unknownforce which was evolved from the multitude, in the acute crisis of faith. Thus it seemed to him anything but intelligent to believe in trickery. The facts were both of a much more lofty and much more simple nature. There was no occasion for the Fathers of the Grotto to descend tofalsehood; it was sufficient that they should help in creating confusion, that they should utilise the universal ignorance. It might even beadmitted that everybody acted in good faith--the doctors void of geniuswho delivered the certificates, the consoled patients who believedthemselves cured, and the impassioned witnesses who swore that they hadbeheld what they described. And from all this was evolved the obviousimpossibility of proving whether there was a miracle or not. And suchbeing the case, did not the miracle naturally become a reality for thegreater number, for all those who suffered and who had need of hope?

Then, as Doctor Bonamy, who had noticed that they were chatting apart, came up to them, Pierre ventured to inquire: "What is about theproportion of the cures to the number of cases?"

"About ten per cent. , " answered the doctor; and reading in the youngpriest's eyes the words that he could not utter, he added in a verycordial way: "Oh! there would be many more, they would all be cured if wechose to listen to them. But it is as well to say it, I am only here tokeep an eye on the miracles, like a policeman as it were. My onlyfunctions are to check excessive zeal, and to prevent holy things frombeing made ridiculous. In one word, this office is simply an office wherea _visa_ is given when the cures have been verified and seem real ones. "

He was interrupted, however, by a low growl. Raboin was growing angry:"The cures verified, the cures verified, " he muttered. "What is the useof that? There is no pause in the working of the miracles. What is theuse of verifying them so far as believers are concerned? _They_ merelyhave to bow down and believe. And what is the use, too, as regards theunbelievers? _They_ will never be convinced. The work we do here is somuch foolishness. "

Doctor Bonamy severely ordered him to hold his tongue. "You are a rebel, Raboin, " said he; "I shall tell Father Capdebarthe that I won't have youhere any longer since you pass your time in sowing disobedience. "

Nevertheless, there was truth in what had just been said by this man, whoso promptly showed his teeth, eager to bite whenever his faith wasassailed; and Pierre looked at him with sympathy. All the work of theVerification Office--work anything but well performed--was indeeduseless, for it wounded the feelings of the pious, and failed to satisfythe incredulous. Besides, can a miracle be proved? No, you must believein it! When God is pleased to intervene, it is not for man to try tounderstand. In the ages of real belief, Science did not make anymeddlesome attempt to explain the nature of the Divinity. And why shouldit come and interfere here? By doing so, it simply hampered faith anddiminished its own prestige. No, no, there must be no Science, you mustthrow yourself upon the ground, kiss it, and believe. Or else you musttake yourself off. No compromise was possible. If examination once beganit must go on, and must, fatally, conduct to doubt. 

Pierre's greatest sufferings, however, came from the extraordinaryconversations which he heard around him. There were some believerspresent who spoke of the miracles with the most amazing ease andtranquillity. The most stupefying stories left their serenity entire. Another miracle, and yet another! And with smiles on their faces, theirreason never protesting, they went on relating such imaginings as couldonly have come from diseased brains. They were evidently living in such astate of visionary fever that nothing henceforth could astonish them. Andnot only did Pierre notice this among folks of simple, childish minds, illiterate, hallucinated creatures like Raboin, but also among the men ofintellect, the men with cultivated brains, the _savants_ like DoctorBonamy and others. It was incredible. And thus Pierre felt a growingdiscomfort arising within him, a covert anger which would doubtless endby bursting forth. His reason was struggling, like that of some poorwretch who after being flung into a river, feels the waters seize himfrom all sides and stifle him; and he reflected that the minds which, like Doctor Chassaigne's, sink at last into blind belief, must passthough this same discomfort and struggle before the final shipwreck. 

He glanced at his old friend and saw how sorrowful he looked, struck downby destiny, as weak as a crying child, and henceforth quite alone inlife. Nevertheless, he was unable to check the cry of protest which roseto his lips: "No, no, if we do not know everything, even if we shallnever know everything, there is no reason why we should leave offlearning. It is wrong that the Unknown should profit by man's debilityand ignorance. On the contrary, the eternal hope should be that thethings which now seem inexplicable will some day be explained; and wecannot, under healthy conditions, have any other ideal than this marchtowards the discovery of the Unknown, this victory slowly achieved byreason amidst all the miseries both of the flesh and of the mind. Ah!reason--it is my reason which makes me suffer, and it is from my reasontoo that I await all my strength. When reason dies, the whole beingperishes. And I feel but an ardent thirst to satisfy my reason more andmore, even though I may lose all happiness in doing so. "

Tears were appearing in Doctor Chassaigne's eyes; doubtless the memory ofhis dear dead ones had again flashed upon him. And, in his turn, hemurmured: "Reason, reason, yes, certainly it is a thing to be very proudof; it embodies the very dignity of life. But there is love, which islife's omnipotence, the one blessing to be won again when you have lostit. "

His voice sank in a stifled sob; and as in a mechanical way he began tofinger the sets of documents lying on the table, he espied among them onewhose cover bore the name of Marie de Guersaint in large letters. Heopened it and read the certificates of the two doctors who had inferredthat the case was one of paralysis of the marrow. "Come, my child, " hethen resumed, "I know that you feel warm affection for Mademoiselle deGuersaint. What should you say if she were cured here? There are heresome certificates, bearing honourable names, and you know that paralysisof this nature is virtually incurable. Well, if this young person shouldall at once run and jump about as I have seen so many others do, wouldyou not feel very happy, would you not at last acknowledge theintervention of a supernatural power?"

Pierre was about to reply, when he suddenly remembered his cousinBeauclair's expression of opinion, the prediction that the miracle wouldcome about like a lightning stroke, an awakening, an exaltation of thewhole being; and he felt his discomfort increase and contented himselfwith replying: "Yes, indeed, I should be very happy. And you are right;there is doubtless only a determination to secure happiness in all theagitation one beholds here. "

However, he could remain in that office no longer. The heat was becomingso great that perspiration streamed down the faces of those present. Doctor Bonamy had begun to dictate a report of the examination of LaGrivotte to one of the seminarists, while Father Dargeles, watchful withregard to the phraseology employed, occasionally rose and whispered someverbal alteration in the writer's ear. Meantime, the tumult around themwas continuing; the discussion among the medical men had taken anotherturn and now bore on certain technical points of no significance withregard to the case in question. You could no longer breathe within thosewooden walls, nausea was upsetting every heart and every head. The littlefair-haired gentleman, the influential writer from Paris, had alreadygone away, quite vexed at not having seen a real miracle. 

Pierre thereupon said to Doctor Chassaigne, "Let us go; I shall be takenill if I stay here any longer. "

They left the office at the same time as La Grivotte, who was at lastbeing dismissed. And as soon as they reached the door they foundthemselves caught in a torrential, surging, jostling crowd, which waseager to behold the girl so miraculously healed; for the report of themiracle must have already spread, and one and all were struggling to seethe chosen one, question her, and touch her. And she, with her empurpledcheeks, her flaming eyes, her dancing gait, could do nothing but repeat, "I am cured, I am cured!"

Shouts drowned her voice, she herself was submerged, carried off amidstthe eddies of the throng. For a moment one lost sight of her as thoughshe had sunk in those tumultuous waters; then she suddenly reappearedclose to Pierre and the doctor, who endeavoured to extricate her from thecrush. They had just perceived the Commander, one of whose manias was tocome down to the piscinas and the Grotto in order to vent his angerthere. With his frock-coat tightly girding him in military fashion, hewas, as usual, leaning on his silver-knobbed walking-stick, slightlydragging his left leg, which his second attack of paralysis hadstiffened. And his face reddened and his eyes flashed with anger when LaGrivotte, pushing him aside in order that she might pass, repeated amidstthe wild enthusiasm of the crowd, "I am cured, I am cured!"

"Well!" he cried, seized with sudden fury, "so much the worse for you, mygirl!"

Exclamations arose, folks began to laugh, for he was well known, and hismaniacal passion for death was forgiven him. However, when he beganstammering confused words, saying that it was pitiful to desire life whenone was possessed of neither beauty nor fortune, and that this girl oughtto have preferred to die at once rather than suffer again, people beganto growl around him, and Abbe Judaine, who was passing, had to extricatehim from his trouble. The priest drew him away. "Be quiet, my friend, bequiet, " he said. "It is scandalous. Why do you rebel like this againstthe goodness of God who occasionally shows His compassion for oursufferings by alleviating them? I tell you again that you yourself oughtto fall on your knees and beg Him to restore to you the use of your legand let you live another ten years. "

The Commander almost choked with anger. "What!" he replied, "ask to livefor another ten years, when my finest day will be the day I die! Showmyself as spiritless, as cowardly as the thousands of patients whom I seepass along here, full of a base terror of death, shrieking aloud theirweakness, their passion to remain alive! Ah! no, I should feel too muchcontempt for myself. I want to die!--to die at once! It will be sodelightful to be no more. "

He was at last out of the scramble of the pilgrims, and again foundhimself near Doctor Chassaigne and Pierre on the bank of the Gave. And headdressed himself to the doctor, whom he often met: "Didn't they try torestore a dead man to life just now?" he asked; "I was told of it--italmost suffocated me. Eh, doctor? You understand? That man was happyenough to be dead, and they dared to dip him in their water in thecriminal hope to make him alive again! But suppose they had succeeded, suppose their water had animated that poor devil once more--for one neverknows what may happen in this funny world--don't you think that the manwould have had a perfect right to spit his anger in the face of thosecorpse-menders? Had he asked them to awaken him? How did they know if hewere not well pleased at being dead? Folks ought to be consulted at anyrate. Just picture them playing the same vile trick on me when I at lastfall into the great deep sleep. Ah! I would give them a nice reception. 'Meddle with what concerns you, ' I should say, and you may be sure Ishould make all haste to die again!"

He looked so singular in the fit of rage which had come over him thatAbbe Judaine and the doctor could not help smiling. Pierre, however, remained grave, chilled by the great quiver which swept by. Were notthose words he had just heard the despairing imprecations of Lazarus? Hehad often imagined Lazarus emerging from the tomb and crying aloud: "Whyhast Thou again awakened me to this abominable life, O Lord? I wassleeping the eternal, dreamless sleep so deeply; I was at last enjoyingsuch sweet repose amidst the delights of nihility! I had known everywretchedness and every dolour, treachery, vain hope, defeat, sickness; asone of the living I had paid my frightful debt to suffering, for I wasborn without knowing why, and I lived without knowing how; and now, behold, O Lord, Thou requirest me to pay my debt yet again; Thoucondemnest me to serve my term of punishment afresh! Have I then beenguilty of some inexpiable transgression that thou shouldst inflict suchcruel chastisement upon me? Alas! to live again, to feel oneself die alittle in one's flesh each day, to have no intelligence save such as isrequired in order to doubt; no will, save such as one must have to beunable; no tenderness, save such as is needed to weep over one's ownsorrows. Yet it was passed, I had crossed the terrifying threshold ofdeath, I had known that second which is so horrible that it sufficeth topoison the whole of life. I had felt the sweat of agony cover me withmoisture, the blood flow back from my limbs, my breath forsake me, fleeaway in a last gasp. And Thou ordainest that I should know this distressa second time, that I should die twice, that my human misery shouldexceed that of all mankind. Then may it be even now, O Lord! Yes, Ientreat Thee, do also this great miracle; may I once more lay myself downin this grave, and again fall asleep without suffering from theinterruption of my eternal slumber. Have mercy upon me, and forbear frominflicting on me the torture of living yet again; that torture which isso frightful that Thou hast never inflicted it on any being. I havealways loved Thee and served Thee; and I beseech Thee do not make of methe greatest example of Thy wrath, a cause of terror unto allgenerations. But show unto me Thy gentleness and loving kindness, O Lord!restore unto me the slumber I have earned, and let me sleep once moreamid the delights of Thy nihility. "

While Pierre was pondering in this wise, Abbe Judaine had led theCommander away, at last managing to calm him; and now the young priestshook hands with Doctor Chassaigne, recollecting that it was past fiveo'clock, and that Marie must be waiting for him. On his way back to theGrotto, however, he encountered the Abbe des Hermoises deep inconversation with M. De Guersaint, who had only just left his room at thehotel, and was quite enlivened by his good nap. He and his companion wereadmiring the extraordinary beauty which the fervour of faith imparted tosome women's countenances, and they also spoke of their projected trip tothe Cirque de Gavarnie. 

On learning, however, that Marie had taken a first bath with no effect, M. De Guersaint at once followed Pierre. They found the poor girl stillin the same painful stupor, with her eyes still fixed on the BlessedVirgin who had not deigned to hear her. She did not answer the lovingwords which her father addressed to her, but simply glanced at him withher large distressful eyes, and then again turned them upon the marblestatue which looked so white amid the radiance of the tapers. And whilstPierre stood waiting to take her back to the hospital, M. De Guersaintdevoutly fell upon his knees. At first he prayed with passionate ardourfor his daughter's cure, and then he solicited, on his own behalf, thefavour of finding some wealthy person who would provide him with themillion francs that he needed for his studies on aerial navigation. 

V. BERNADETTE'S TRIALS

ABOUT eleven o'clock that night, leaving M. De Guersaint in his room atthe Hotel of the Apparitions, it occurred to Pierre to return for amoment to the Hospital of Our Lady of Dolours before going to bedhimself. He had left Marie in such a despairing state, so fiercelysilent, that he was full of anxiety about her. And when he had asked forMadame de Jonquiere at the door of the Sainte-Honorine Ward he became yetmore anxious, for the news was by no means good. The young girl, said thesuperintendent, had not even opened her mouth. She would answer nobody, and had even refused to eat. Madame de Jonquiere, insisted therefore thatPierre should come in. True, the presence of men was forbidden in thewomen's wards at night-time, but then a priest is not a man. 

"She only cares for you and will only listen to you, " said the worthylady. "Pray come in and sit down near her till Abbe Judaine arrives. Hewill come at about one in the morning to administer the communion to ourmore afflicted sufferers, those who cannot move and who have to eat atdaybreak. You will be able to assist him. "

Pierre thereupon followed Madame de Jonquiere, who installed him at thehead of Marie's bed. "My dear child, " she said to the girl, "I havebrought you somebody who is very fond of you. You will be able to chatwith him, and you will be reasonable now, won't you?"

Marie, however, on recognising Pierre, gazed at him with an air ofexasperated suffering, a black, stern expression of revolt. 

"Would you like him to read something to you, " resumed Madame deJonquiere, "something that would ease and console you as he did in thetrain? No? It wouldn't interest you, you don't care for it? Well, we willsee by-and-by. I will leave him with you, and I am sure you will be quitereasonable again in a few minutes. "

Pierre then began speaking to her in a low voice, saying all the kindconsoling things that his heart could think of, and entreating her not toallow herself to sink into such despair. If the Blessed Virgin had notcured her on the first day, it was because she reserved her for someconspicuous miracle. But he spoke in vain. Marie had turned her headaway, and did not even seem to listen as she lay there with a bitterexpression on her mouth and a gleam of irritation in her eyes, whichwandered away into space. Accordingly he ceased speaking and began togaze at the ward around him. 

The spectacle was a frightful one. Never before had such a nausea of pityand terror affected his heart. They had long since dined, neverthelessplates of food which had been brought up from the kitchens still layabout the beds; and all through the night there were some who ate whilstothers continued restlessly moaning, asking to be turned over or helpedout of bed. As the hours went by a kind of vague delirium seemed to comeupon almost all of them. Very few were able to sleep quietly. Some hadbeen undressed and were lying between the sheets, but the greater numberwere simply stretched out on the beds, it being so difficult to get theirclothes off that they did not even change their linen during the fivedays of the pilgrimage. In the semi-obscurity, moreover, the obstructionof the ward seemed to have increased. To the fifteen beds ranged alongthe walls and the seven mattresses filling the central space, some freshpallets had been added, and on all sides there was a confused litter ofragged garments, old baskets, boxes, and valises. Indeed, you no longerknew where to step. Two smoky lanterns shed but a dim light upon thisencampment of dying women, in which a sickly smell prevailed; for, instead of any freshness, merely the heavy heat of the August night camein through the two windows which had been left ajar. Nightmare-likeshadows and cries sped to and fro, peopling the inferno, amidst thenocturnal agony of so much accumulated suffering. 

However, Pierre recognised Raymonde, who, her duties over, had come tokiss her mother, before going to sleep in one of the garrets reserved tothe Sisters of the hospital. For her own part, Madame de Jonquiere, taking her functions to heart, did not close her eyes during the threenights spent at Lourdes. 

She certainly had an arm-chair in which to rest herself, but she neversat down in it for a moment with out being disturbed. It must be admittedthat she was bravely seconded by little Madame Desagneaux, who displayedsuch enthusiastic zeal that Sister Hyacinthe asked her, with a smile:"Why don't you take the vows?" whereupon she responded, with an air ofscared surprise: "Oh! I can't, I'm married, you know, and I'm very fondof my husband. " As for Madame Volmar, she had not even shown herself; butit was alleged that Madame de Jonquiere had sent her to bed on hearingher complain of a frightful headache. And this had put Madame Desagneauxin quite a temper; for, as she sensibly enough remarked, a person had nobusiness to offer to nurse the sick when the slightest exertion exhaustedher. She herself, however, at last began to feel her legs and armsaching, though she would not admit it, but hastened to every patient whomshe heard calling, ever ready as she was to lend a helping hand. In Parisshe would have rung for a servant rather than have moved a candlestickherself; but here she was ever coming and going, bringing and emptyingbasins, and passing her arms around patients to hold them up, whilstMadame de Jonquiere slipped pillows behind them. However, shortly aftereleven o'clock, she was all at once overpowered. Having imprudentlystretched herself in the armchair for a moment's rest, she there fellsoundly asleep, her pretty head sinking on one of her shoulders amidsther lovely, wavy fair hair, which was all in disorder. And from thatmoment neither moan nor call, indeed no sound whatever, could waken her. 

Madame de Jonquiere, however, had softly approached the young priestagain. "I had an idea, " said she in a low voice, "of sending for MonsieurFerrand, the house-surgeon, you know, who accompanies us. He would havegiven the poor girl something to calm her. Only he is busy downstairstrying to relieve Brother Isidore, in the Family Ward. Besides, as youknow, we are not supposed to give medical attendance here; our workconsists in placing our dear sick ones in the hands of the BlessedVirgin. "

Sister Hyacinthe, who had made up her mind to spend the night with thesuperintendent, now drew, near. "I have just come from the Family Ward, "she said; "I went to take Monsieur Sabathier some oranges which I hadpromised him, and I saw Monsieur Ferrand, who had just succeeded inreviving Brother Isidore. Would you like me to go down and fetch him?"

But Pierre declined the offer. "No, no, " he replied, "Marie will besensible. I will read her a few consoling pages by-and-by, and then shewill rest. "

For the moment, however, the girl still remained obstinately silent. Oneof the two lanterns was hanging from the wall close by, and Pierre coulddistinctly see her thin face, rigid and motionless like stone. Then, farther away, in the adjoining bed, he perceived Elise Rouquet, who wassound asleep and no longer wore her fichu, but openly displayed her face, the ulcerations of which still continued to grow paler. And on the youngpriest's left hand was Madame Vetu, now greatly weakened, in a hopelessstate, unable to doze off for a moment, shaken as she was by a continuousrattle. He said a few kind words to her, for which she thanked him with anod; and, gathering her remaining strength together, she was at last ableto say: "There were several cures to-day; I was very pleased to hear ofthem. "

On a mattress at the foot of her bed was La Grivotte, who in a fever ofextraordinary activity kept on sitting up to repeat her favourite phrase:"I am cured, I am cured!" And she went on to relate that she had eatenhalf a fowl for dinner, she who had been unable to eat for long monthspast. Then, too, she had followed the torchlight procession on footduring nearly a couple of hours, and she would certainly have danced tilldaybreak had the Blessed Virgin only been pleased to give a ball. Andonce more she repeated: "I am cured, yes, cured, quite cured!"

Thereupon Madame Vetu found enough strength to say with childlikeserenity and perfect, gladsome abnegation: "The Blessed Virgin did wellto cure her since she is poor. I am better pleased than if it had beenmyself, for I have my little shop to depend upon and can wait. We eachhave our turn, each our turn. "

One and all displayed a like charity, a like pleasure that others shouldhave been cured. Seldom, indeed, was any jealousy shown; they surrenderedthemselves to a kind of epidemical beatitude, to a contagious hope thatthey would all be cured whenever it should so please the Blessed Virgin. And it was necessary that she should not be offended by any undueimpatience; for assuredly she had her reasons and knew right well why shebegan by healing some rather than others. Thus with the fraternity bornof common suffering and hope, the most grievously afflicted patientsprayed for the cure of their neighbours. None of them ever despaired, each fresh miracle was the promise of another one, of the one which wouldbe worked on themselves. Their faith remained unshakable. A story wastold of a paralytic woman, some farm servant, who with extraordinarystrength of will had contrived to take a few steps at the Grotto, and whowhile being conveyed back to the hospital had asked to be set down thatshe might return to the Grotto on foot. But she had gone only half thedistance when she had staggered, panting and livid; and on being broughtto the hospital on a stretcher, she had died there, cured, however, saidher neighbours in the ward. Each, indeed, had her turn; the BlessedVirgin forgot none of her dear daughters unless it were her design togrant some chosen one immediate admission into Paradise. 

All at once, at the moment when Pierre was leaning towards her, againoffering to read to her, Marie burst into furious sobs. Letting her headfall upon her friend's shoulder, she vented all her rebellion in a low, terrible voice, amidst the vague shadows of that awful room. She hadexperienced what seldom happened to her, a collapse of faith, a suddenloss of courage, all the rage of the suffering being who can no longerwait. Such was her despair, indeed, that she even became sacrilegious. 

"No, no, " she stammered, "the Virgin is cruel; she is unjust, for she didnot cure me just now. Yet I felt so certain that she would grant myprayer, I had prayed to her so fervently. I shall never be cured, nowthat the first day is past. It was a Saturday, and I was convinced that Ishould be cured on a Saturday. I did not want to speak--and oh! preventme, for my heart is too full, and I might say more than I ought to do. "

With fraternal hands he had quickly taken hold of her head, and he wasendeavouring to stifle the cry of her rebellion. "Be quiet, Marie, Ientreat you! It would never do for anyone to hear you--you so pious! Doyou want to scandalise every soul?"

But in spite of her efforts she was unable to keep silence. "I shouldstifle, I must speak out, " she said. "I no longer love her, no longerbelieve in her. The tales which are related here are all falsehoods;there is _nothing_, she does not even exist, since she does not hear whenone speaks to her, and sobs. If you only knew all that I said to her! Oh!I want to go away at once. Take me away, carry me away in your arms, sothat I may go and die in the street, where the passers-by, at least, willtake pity on my sufferings!"

She was growing weak again, and had once more fallen on her back, stammering, talking childishly. "Besides, nobody loves me, " she said. "Myfather was not even there. And you, my friend, forsook me. When I sawthat it was another who was taking me to the piscinas, I began to feel achill. Yes, that chill of doubt which I often felt in Paris. And that isat least certain, I doubted--perhaps, indeed, that is why she did notcure me. I cannot have prayed well enough, I am not pious enough, nodoubt. "

She was no longer blaspheming, but seeking for excuses to explain thenon-intervention of Heaven. However, her face retained an angryexpression amidst this struggle which she was waging with the SupremePower, that Power which she had loved so well and entreated so fervently, but which had not obeyed her. When, on rare occasions, a fit of rage ofthis description broke out in the ward, and the sufferers, lying on theirbeds, rebelled against their fate, sobbing and lamenting, and at timeseven swearing, the lady-hospitallers and the Sisters, somewhat shocked, would content themselves with simply closing the bed-curtains. Grace haddeparted, one must await its return. And at last, sometimes after longhours, the rebellious complaints would die away, and peace would reignagain amidst the deep, woeful silence. 

"Calm yourself, calm yourself, I implore you, " Pierre gently repeated toMarie, seeing that a fresh attack was coming upon her, an attack of doubtin herself, of fear that she was unworthy of the divine assistance. 

Sister Hyacinthe, moreover, had again drawn near. "You will not be ableto take the sacrament by-and-by, my dear child, " said she, "if youcontinue in such a state. Come, since we have given Monsieur l'Abbepermission to read to you, why don't you let him do so?"

Marie made a feeble gesture as though to say that she consented, andPierre at once took out of the valise at the foot of her bed, the littleblue-covered book in which the story of Bernadette was so naivelyrelated. As on the previous night, however, when the train was rollingon, he did not confine himself to the bald phraseology of the book, butbegan improvising, relating all manner of details in his own fashion, inorder to charm the simple folks who listened to him. Nevertheless, withhis reasoning, analytical proclivities, he could not prevent himself fromsecretly re-establishing the real facts, imparting, for himself alone, ahuman character to this legend, whose wealth of prodigies contributed sogreatly to the cure of those that suffered. Women were soon sitting up onall the surrounding beds. They wished to hear the continuation of thestory, for the thought of the sacrament which they were passionatelyawaiting had prevented almost all of them from getting to sleep. Andseated there, in the pale light of the lantern hanging from the wallabove him, Pierre little by little raised his voice, so that he might beheard by the whole ward. 

"The persecutions began with the very first miracles. Called a liar and alunatic, Bernadette was threatened with imprisonment. Abbe Peyramale, theparish priest of Lourdes, and Monseigneur Laurence, Bishop of Tarbes, like the rest of the clergy, refrained from all intervention, waiting thecourse of events with the greatest prudence; whilst the civilauthorities, the Prefect, the Public Prosecutor, the Mayor, and theCommissary of Police, indulged in excessive anti-religious zeal. "

Continuing his perusal in this fashion, Pierre saw the real story rise upbefore him with invincible force. His mind travelled a short distancebackward and he beheld Bernadette at the time of the first apparitions, so candid, so charming in her ignorance and good faith, amidst all hersufferings. And she was truly the visionary, the saint, her face assumingan expression of superhuman beauty during her crises of ecstasy. Her browbeamed, her features seemed to ascend, her eyes were bathed with light, whilst her parted lips burnt with divine love. And then her whole personbecame majestic; it was in a slow, stately way that she made the sign ofthe cross, with gestures which seemed to embrace the whole horizon. Theneighbouring valleys, the villages, the towns, spoke of Bernadette alone. Although the Lady had not yet told her name, she was recognised, andpeople said, "It is she, the Blessed Virgin. " On the first market-day, somany people flocked into Lourdes that the town quite overflowed. Allwished to see the blessed child whom the Queen of the Angels had chosen, and who became so beautiful when the heavens opened to her enrapturedgaze. The crowd on the banks of the Gave grew larger each morning, andthousands of people ended by installing themselves there, jostling oneanother that they might lose nothing of the spectacle! As soon asBernadette appeared, a murmur of fervour spread: "Here is the saint, thesaint, the saint!" Folks rushed forward to kiss her garments. She was aMessiah, the eternal Messiah whom the nations await, and the need of whomis ever arising from generation to generation. And, moreover, it was everthe same adventure beginning afresh: an apparition of the Virgin to ashepherdess; a voice exhorting the world to penitence; a spring gushingforth; and miracles astonishing and enrapturing the crowds that hastenedto the spot in larger and larger numbers. 

Ah! those first miracles of Lourdes, what a spring-tide flowering ofconsolation and hope they brought to the hearts of the wretched, uponwhom poverty and sickness were preying! Old Bourriette's restoredeyesight, little Bouhohort's resuscitation in the icy water, the deafrecovering their hearing, the lame suddenly enabled to walk, and so manyother cases, Blaise Maumus, Bernade Soubies, * Auguste Bordes, BlaisetteSoupenne, Benoite Cazeaux, in turn cured of the most dreadful ailments, became the subject of endless conversations, and fanned the illusions ofall those who suffered either in their hearts or their flesh. OnThursday, March 4th, the last day of the fifteen visits solicited by theVirgin, there were more than twenty thousand persons assembled before theGrotto. Everybody, indeed, had come down from the mountains. And thisimmense throng found at the Grotto the divine food that it hungered for, a feast of the Marvellous, a sufficient meed of the Impossible to contentits belief in a superior Power, which deigned to bestow some attentionupon poor folks, and to intervene in the wretched affairs of this lowerworld, in order to re-establish some measure of justice and kindness. Itwas indeed the cry of heavenly charity bursting forth, the invisiblehelping hand stretched out at last to dress the eternal sores ofhumanity. Ah! that dream in which each successive generation soughtrefuge, with what indestructible energy did it not arise among thedisinherited ones of this world as soon as it found a favourable spot, prepared by circumstances! And for centuries, perhaps, circumstances hadnever so combined to kindle the mystical fire of faith as they did atLourdes. 

 * I give this name as written by M. Zola; but in other works on Lourdes I find it given as "Bernarde Loubie--a bed-ridden old woman, cured of a paralytic affection by drinking the water of the Grotto. "--Trans. 

A new religion was about to be founded, and persecutions at once began, for religions only spring up amidst vexations and rebellions. And even asit was long ago at Jerusalem, when the tidings of miracles spread, thecivil authorities--the Public Prosecutor, the Justice of the Peace, theMayor, and particularly the Prefect of Tarbes--were all roused and beganto bestir themselves. The Prefect was a sincere Catholic, a worshipper, aman of perfect honour, but he also had the firm mind of a publicfunctionary, was a passionate defender of order, and a declared adversaryof fanaticism which gives birth to disorder and religious perversion. Under his orders at Lourdes there was a Commissary of Police, a man ofgreat intelligence and shrewdness, who had hitherto discharged hisfunctions in a very proper way, and who, legitimately enough, beheld inthis affair of the apparitions an opportunity to put his gift ofsagacious skill to the proof. So the struggle began, and it was thisCommissary who, on the first Sunday in Lent, at the time of the firstapparitions, summoned Bernadette to his office in order that he mightquestion her. He showed himself affectionate, then angry, thenthreatening, but all in vain; the answers which the girl gave him wereever the same. The story which she related, with its slowly accumulateddetails, had little by little irrevocably implanted itself in herinfantile mind. And it was no lie on the part of this poor sufferingcreature, this exceptional victim of hysteria, but an unconscioushaunting, a radical lack of will-power to free herself from her originalhallucination. She knew not how to exert any such will, she could not, she would not exert it. Ah! the poor child, the dear child, so amiableand so gentle, so incapable of any evil thought, from that time forwardlost to life, crucified by her fixed idea, whence one could only haveextricated her by changing her environment, by restoring her to the openair, in some land of daylight and human affection. But she was the chosenone, she had beheld the Virgin, she would suffer from it her whole lifelong and die from it at last!

Pierre, who knew Bernadette so well, and who felt a fraternal pity forher memory, the fervent compassion with which one regards a human saint, a simple, upright, charming creature tortured by her faith, allowed hisemotion to appear in his moist eyes and trembling voice. And a pause inhis narrative ensued. Marie, who had hitherto been lying there quitestiff, with a hard expression of revolt still upon her face, opened herclenched hands and made a vague gesture of pity. "Ah, " she murmured, "thepoor child, all alone to contend against those magistrates, and soinnocent, so proud, so unshakable in her championship of the truth!"

The same compassionate sympathy was arising from all the beds in theward. That hospital inferno with its nocturnal wretchedness, itspestilential atmosphere, its pallets of anguish heaped together, itsweary lady-hospitallers and Sisters flitting phantom-like hither andthither, now seemed to be illumined by a ray of divine charity. Was notthe eternal illusion of happiness rising once more amidst tears andunconscious falsehoods? Poor, poor Bernadette! All waxed indignant at thethought of the persecutions which she had endured in defence of herfaith. 

Then Pierre, resuming his story, related all that the child had had tosuffer. After being questioned by the Commissary she had to appear beforethe judges of the local tribunal. The entire magistracy pursued her, andendeavoured to wring a retractation from her. But the obstinacy of herdream was stronger than the common sense of all the civil authorities puttogether. Two doctors who were sent by the Prefect to make a carefulexamination of the girl came, as all doctors would have done, to thehonest opinion that it was a case of nervous trouble, of which the asthmawas a sure sign, and which, in certain circumstances, might have inducedvisions. This nearly led to her removal and confinement in a hospital atTarbes. But public exasperation was feared. A bishop had fallen on hisknees before her. Some ladies had sought to buy favours from her forgold. Moreover she had found a refuge with the Sisters of Nevers, whotended the aged in the town asylum, and there she made her firstcommunion, and was with difficulty taught to read and write. As theBlessed Virgin seemed to have chosen her solely to work the happiness ofothers, and she herself had not been cured, it was very sensibly decidedto take her to the baths of Cauterets, which were so near at hand. However, they did her no good. And no sooner had she returned to Lourdesthan the torture of being questioned and adored by a whole people beganafresh, became aggravated, and filled her more and more with horror ofthe world. Her life was over already; she would be a playful child nomore; she could never be a young girl dreaming of a husband, a young wifekissing the cheeks of sturdy children. She had beheld the Virgin, she wasthe chosen one, the martyr. If the Virgin, said believers, had confidedthree secrets to her, investing her with a triple armour as it were, itwas simply in order to sustain her in her appointed course. 

The clergy had for a long time remained aloof, on its own side full ofdoubt and anxiety. Abby Peyramale, the parish priest of Lourdes, was aman of somewhat blunt ways, but full of infinite kindness, rectitude, andenergy whenever he found himself in what he thought the right path. Onthe first occasion when Bernadette visited him, he received this childwho had been brought up at Bartres and had not yet been seen atCatechism, almost as sternly as the Commissary of Police had done; infact, he refused to believe her story, and with some irony told her toentreat the Lady to begin by making the briars blossom beneath her feet, which, by the way, the Lady never did. And if the Abbe ended by takingthe child under his protection like a good pastor who defends his flock, it was simply through the advent of persecution and the talk ofimprisoning this puny child, whose clear eyes shone so frankly, and whoclung with such modest, gentle stubbornness to her original tale. Besides, why should he have continued denying the miracle after merelydoubting it like a prudent priest who had no desire to see religion mixedup in any suspicious affair? Holy Writ is full of prodigies, all dogma isbased on the mysterious; and that being so, there was nothing to preventhim, a priest, from believing that the Virgin had really entrustedBernadette with a pious message for him, an injunction to build a churchwhither the faithful would repair in procession. Thus it was that hebegan loving and defending Bernadette for her charm's sake, whilst stillrefraining from active interference, awaiting as he did the decision ofhis Bishop. 

This Bishop, Monseigneur Laurence, seemed to have shut himself up in hisepiscopal residence at Tarbes, locking himself within it and preservingabsolute silence as though there were nothing occurring at Lourdes of anature to interest him. He had given strict instructions to his clergy, and so far not a priest had appeared among the vast crowds of people whospent their days before the Grotto. He waited, and even allowed thePrefect to state in his administrative circulars that the civil and thereligious authorities were acting in concert. In reality, he cannot havebelieved in the apparitions of the Grotto of Massabielle, which hedoubtless considered to be the mere hallucinations of a sick child. Thisaffair, which was revolutionising the region, was of sufficientimportance for him to have studied it day by day, and the manner in whichhe disregarded it for so long a time shows how little inclined he was toadmit the truth of the alleged miracles, and how greatly he desired toavoid compromising the Church in a matter which seemed destined to endbadly. With all his piety, Monseigneur Laurence had a cool, practicalintellect, which enabled him to govern his diocese with great good sense. Impatient and ardent people nicknamed him Saint Thomas at the time, onaccount of the manner in which his doubts persisted until events at lastforced his hand. Indeed, he turned a deaf ear to all the stories thatwere being related, firmly resolved as he was that he would only listento them if it should appear certain that religion had nothing to lose. 

However, the persecutions were about to become more pronounced. TheMinister of Worship in Paris, who had been informed of what was going on, required that a stop should be put to all disorders, and so the Prefectcaused the approaches to the Grotto to be occupied by the military. TheGrotto had already been decorated with vases of flowers offered by thezeal of the faithful and the gratitude of sufferers who had been healed. Money, moreover, was thrown into it; gifts to the Blessed Virginabounded. Rudimentary improvements, too, were carried out in aspontaneous way; some quarrymen cut a kind of reservoir to receive themiraculous water, and others removed the large blocks of stone, andtraced a path in the hillside. However, in presence of the swellingtorrents of people, the Prefect, after renouncing his idea of arrestingBernadette, took the serious resolution of preventing all access to theGrotto by placing a strong palisade in front of it. Some regrettableincidents had lately occurred; various children pretended that they hadseen the devil, some of them being guilty of simulation in this respect, whilst others had given way to real attacks of hysteria, in thecontagious nervous unhinging which was so prevalent. But what a terriblebusiness did the removal of the offerings from the Grotto prove! It wasonly towards evening that the Commissary was able to find a girl willingto let him have a cart on hire, and two hours later this girl fell from aloft and broke one of her ribs. Likewise, a man who had lent an axe hadone of his feet crushed on the morrow by the fall of a block of stone. *It was in the midst of jeers and hisses that the Commissary carried offthe pots of flowers, the tapers which he found burning, the coppers andthe silver hearts which lay upon the sand. People clenched their fists, and covertly called him "thief" and "murderer. " Then the posts for thepalisades were planted in the ground, and the rails were nailed to thecrossbars, no little labour being performed to shut off the Mystery, inorder to bar access to the Unknown, and put the miracles in prison. Andthe civil authorities were simple enough to imagine that it was all over, that those few bits of boarding would suffice to stay the poor people whohungered for illusion and hope. 

 * Both of these accidents were interpreted as miracles. --Trans. 

But as soon as the new religion was proscribed, forbidden by the law asan offence, it began to burn with an inextinguishable flame in the depthsof every soul. Believers came to the river bank in far greater numbers, fell upon their knees at a short distance from the Grotto, and sobbedaloud as they gazed at the forbidden heaven. And the sick, the poorailing folks, who were forbidden to seek cure, rushed on the Grottodespite all prohibitions, slipped in whenever they could find an apertureor climbed over the palings when their strength enabled them to do so, inthe one ardent desire to steal a little of the water. What! there was aprodigious water in that Grotto, which restored the sight to the blind, which set the infirm erect upon their legs again, which instantaneouslyhealed all ailments; and there were officials cruel enough to put thatwater under lock and key so that it might not cure any more poor people!Why, it was monstrous! And a cry of hatred arose from all the humbleones, all the disinherited ones who had as much need of the Marvellous asof bread to live! In accordance with a municipal decree, the names of alldelinquents were to be taken by the police, and thus one soon beheld awoeful _defile_ of old women and lame men summoned before the Justice ofthe Peace for the sole offence of taking a little water from the fount oflife! They stammered and entreated, at their wit's end when a fine wasimposed upon them. And, outside, the crowd was growling; ragefulunpopularity was gathering around those magistrates who treated humanwretchedness so harshly, those pitiless masters who after taking all thewealth of the world, would not even leave to the poor their dream of therealms beyond, their belief that a beneficent superior power took amaternal interest in them, and was ready to endow them with peace of souland health of body. One day a whole band of poverty-stricken and ailingfolks went to the Mayor, knelt down in his courtyard, and implored himwith sobs to allow the Grotto to be reopened; and the words they spokewere so pitiful that all who heard them wept. A mother showed her childwho was half-dead; would they let the little one die like that in herarms when there was a source yonder which had saved the children of othermothers? A blind man called attention to his dim eyes; a pale, scrofulousyouth displayed the sores on his legs; a paralytic woman sought to joinher woeful twisted hands: did the authorities wish to see them allperish, did they refuse them the last divine chance of life, condemnedand abandoned as they were by the science of man? And equally great wasthe distress of the believers, of those who were convinced that a cornerof heaven had opened amidst the night of their mournful existences, andwho were indignant that they should be deprived of the chimericaldelight, the supreme relief for their human and social sufferings, whichthey found in the belief that the Blessed Virgin had indeed come downfrom heaven to bring them the priceless balm of her intervention. However, the Mayor was unable to promise anything, and the crowd withdrewweeping, ready for rebellion, as though under the blow of some great actof injustice, an act of idiotic cruelty towards the humble and the simplefor which Heaven would assuredly take vengeance. 

The struggle went on for several months; and it was an extraordinaryspectacle which those sensible men--the Minister, the Prefect, and theCommissary of Police--presented, all animated with the best intentionsand contending against the ever-swelling crowd of despairing ones, whowould not allow the doors of dreamland to be closed upon them, who wouldnot be shut off from the mystic glimpse of future happiness in which theyfound consolation for their present wretchedness. The authoritiesrequired order, the respect of a discreet religion, the triumph ofreason; whereas the need of happiness carried the people off into anenthusiastic desire for cure both in this world and in the next. Oh! tocease suffering, to secure equality in the comforts of life; to march onunder the protection of a just and beneficent Mother, to die only toawaken in heaven! And necessarily the burning desire of the multitude, the holy madness of the universal joy, was destined to sweep aside therigid, morose conceptions of a well-regulated society in which theever-recurring epidemical attacks of religious hallucination arecondemned as prejudicial to good order and healthiness of mind. 

The Sainte-Honorine Ward, on hearing the story, likewise revolted. Pierreagain had to pause, for many were the stifled exclamations in which theCommissary of Police was likened to Satan and Herod. La Grivotte had satup on her mattress, stammering: "Ah! the monsters! To behave like that tothe Blessed Virgin who has cured me!"

And even Madame Vetu--once more penetrated by a ray of hope amidst thecovert certainty she felt that she was going to die--grew angry at theidea that the Grotto would not have existed had the Prefect won the day. "There would have been no pilgrimages, " she said, "we should not be here, hundreds of us would not be cured every year. "

A fit of stifling came over her, however, and Sister Hyacinthe had toraise her to a sitting posture. Madame de Jonquiere was profiting by theinterruption to attend to a young woman afflicted with a spinalcomplaint, whilst two other women, unable to remain on their beds, sounbearable was the heat, prowled about with short, silent steps, lookingquite white in the misty darkness. And from the far end of the ward, where all was black, there resounded a noise of painful breathing, whichhad been going on without a pause, accompanying Pierre's narrative like arattle. Elise Rouquet alone was sleeping peacefully, still stretched uponher back, and displaying her disfigured countenance, which was slowlydrying. 

Midnight had struck a quarter of an hour previously, and Abbe Judainemight arrive at any moment for the communion. Grace was now againdescending into Marie's heart, and she was convinced that if the BlessedVirgin had refused to cure her it was, indeed, her own fault in havingdoubted when she entered the piscina. And she, therefore, repented of herrebellion as of a crime. Could she ever be forgiven? Her pale face sankdown among her beautiful fair hair, her eyes filled with tears, and shelooked at Pierre with an expression of anguish. "Oh! how wicked I was, myfriend, " she said. "It was through hearing you relate how that Prefectand those magistrates sinned through pride, that I understood mytransgression. One must believe, my friend; there is no happiness outsidefaith and love. "

Then, as Pierre wished to break off at the point which he had reached, they all began protesting and calling for the continuation of hisnarrative, so that he had to promise to go on to the triumph of theGrotto. 

Its entrance remained barred by the palisade, and you had to comesecretly at night if you wished to pray and carry off a stolen bottle ofwater. Still, the fear of rioting increased, for it was rumoured thatwhole villages intended to come down from the hills in order to deliverGod, as they naively expressed it. It was a _levee en masse_ of thehumble, a rush of those who hungered for the miraculous, so irresistiblein its impetuosity that mere common sense, mere considerations of publicorder were to be swept away like chaff. And it was Monseigneur Laurence, in his episcopal residence at Tarbes, who was first forced to surrender. All his prudence, all his doubts were outflanked by the popular outburst. For five long months he had been able to remain aloof, preventing hisclergy from following the faithful to the Grotto, and defending theChurch against the tornado of superstition which had been let loose. Butwhat was the use of struggling any longer? He felt the wretchedness ofthe suffering people committed to his care to be so great that heresigned himself to granting them the idolatrous religion for which herealised them to be eager. Some prudence remaining to him, however, hecontented himself in the first instance with drawing up an _ordonnance_, appointing a commission of inquiry, which was to investigate thequestion; this implied the acceptance of the miracles after a period oflonger or shorter duration. If Monseigneur Laurence was the man ofhealthy culture and cool reason that he is pictured to have been, howgreat must have been his anguish on the morning when he signed that_ordonnance_! He must have knelt in his oratory, and have begged theSovereign Master of the world to dictate his conduct to him. He did notbelieve in the apparitions; he had a loftier, more intellectual idea ofthe manifestations of the Divinity. Only would he not be showing truepity and mercy in silencing the scruples of his reason, the nobleprejudices of his faith, in presence of the necessity of granting thatbread of falsehood which poor humanity requires in order to be happy?Doubtless, he begged the pardon of Heaven for allowing it to be mixed upin what he regarded as childish pastime, for exposing it to ridicule inconnection with an affair in which there was only sickliness anddementia. But his flock suffered so much, hungered so ravenously for themarvellous, for fairy stories with which to lull the pains of life. Andthus, in tears, the Bishop at last sacrificed his respect for the dignityof Providence to his sensitive pastoral charity for the woeful humanflock. 

Then the Emperor in his turn gave way. He was at Biarritz at the time, and was kept regularly informed of everything connected with this affairof the apparitions, with which the entire Parisian press was alsooccupying itself, for the persecutions would not have been complete ifthe pens of Voltairean newspaper-men had not meddled in them. And whilsthis Minister, his Prefect, and his Commissary of Police were fighting forcommon sense and public order, the Emperor preserved his wontedsilence--the deep silence of a day-dreamer which nobody ever penetrated. Petitions arrived day by day, yet he held his tongue. Bishops came, greatpersonages, great ladies of his circle watched and drew him on one side, and still he held his tongue. A truceless warfare was being waged aroundhim: on one side the believers and the men of fanciful minds whom theMysterious strongly interested; on the other the unbelievers and thestatesmen who distrusted the disturbances of the imagination;--and stilland ever he held his tongue. Then, all at once, with the sudden decisionof a naturally timid man, he spoke out. The rumour spread that he hadyielded to the entreaties of his wife Eugenie. No doubt she didintervene, but the Emperor was more deeply influenced by a revival of hisold humanitarian dreams, his genuine compassion for the disinherited. *Like the Bishop, he did not wish to close the portals of illusion to thewretched by upholding the unpopular decree which forbade despairingsufferers to go and drink life at the holy source. So he sent a telegram, a curt order to remove the palisade, so as to allow everybody free accessto the Grotto. 

 * I think this view of the matter the right one, for, as all who know the history of the Second Empire are aware, it was about this time that the Emperor began taking great interest in the erection of model dwellings for the working classes, and the plantation and transformation of the sandy wastes of the Landes. --Trans. 

Then came a shout of joy and triumph. The decree annulling the previousone was read at Lourdes to the sound of drum and trumpet. The Commissaryof Police had to come in person to superintend the removal of thepalisade. He was afterwards transferred elsewhere like the Prefect. *People flocked to Lourdes from all parts, the new _cultus_ was organisedat the Grotto, and a cry of joy ascended: God had won the victory!God?--alas, no! It was human wretchedness which had won the battle, humanwretchedness with its eternal need of falsehood, its hunger for themarvellous, its everlasting hope akin to that of some condemned man who, for salvation's sake, surrenders himself into the hands of an invisibleOmnipotence, mightier than nature, and alone capable, should it bewilling, of annulling nature's laws. And that which had also conqueredwas the sovereign compassion of those pastors, the merciful Bishop andmerciful Emperor who allowed those big sick children to retain the fetichwhich consoled some of them and at times even cured others. 

 * The Prefect was transferred to Grenoble, and curiously enough his new jurisdiction extended over the hills and valleys of La Salette, whither pilgrims likewise flocked to drink, pray, and wash themselves at a miraculous fountain. Warned by experience, however, Baron Massy (such was the Prefect's name) was careful to avoid any further interference in religious matters. --Trans. 

In the middle of November the episcopal commission came to Lourdes toprosecute the inquiry which had been entrusted to it. It questionedBernadette yet once again, and studied a large number of miracles. However, in order that the evidence might be absolute, it only registeredsome thirty cases of cure. And Monseigneur Laurence declared himselfconvinced. Nevertheless, he gave a final proof of his prudence, bycontinuing to wait another three years before declaring in a pastoralletter that the Blessed Virgin had in truth appeared at the Grotto ofMassabielle and that numerous miracles had subsequently taken placethere. Meantime, he had purchased the Grotto itself, with all the landaround it, from the municipality of Lourdes, on behalf of his see. Workwas then begun, modestly at first, but soon on a larger and larger scaleas money began to flow in from all parts of Christendom. The Grotto wascleared and enclosed with an iron railing. The Gave was thrown back intoa new bed, so as to allow of spacious approaches to the shrine, withlawns, paths, and walks. At last, too, the church which the Virgin hadasked for, the Basilica, began to rise on the summit of the rock itself. From the very first stroke of the pick, Abbe Peyramale, the parish priestof Lourdes, went on directing everything with even excessive zeal, forthe struggle had made him the most ardent and most sincere of allbelievers in the work that was to be accomplished. With his somewhatrough but truly fatherly nature, he had begun to adore Bernadette, makingher mission his own, and devoting himself, soul and body, to realisingthe orders which he had received from Heaven through her innocent mouth. And he exhausted himself in mighty efforts; he wished everything to bevery beautiful and very grand, worthy of the Queen of the Angels who haddeigned to visit this mountain nook. The first religious ceremony did nottake place till six years after the apparitions. A marble statue of theVirgin was installed with great pomp on the very spot where she hadappeared. It was a magnificent day, all Lourdes was gay with flags, andevery bell rang joyously. Five years later, in 1869, the first mass wascelebrated in the crypt of the Basilica, whose spire was not yetfinished. Meantime, gifts flowed in without a pause, a river of gold wasstreaming towards the Grotto, a whole town was about to spring up fromthe soil. It was the new religion completing its foundations. The desireto be healed did heal; the thirst for a miracle worked the miracle. ADeity of pity and hope was evolved from man's sufferings, from thatlonging for falsehood and relief which, in every age of humanity, hascreated the marvellous palaces of the realms beyond, where an almightyPower renders justice and distributes eternal happiness. 

And thus the ailing ones of the Sainte-Honorine Ward only beheld in thevictory of the Grotto the triumph of their hopes of cure. Along the rowsof beds there was a quiver of joy when, with his heart stirred by allthose poor faces turned towards him, eager for certainty, Pierrerepeated: "God had conquered. Since that day the miracles have neverceased, and it is the most humble who are the most frequently relieved. "

Then he laid down the little book. Abbe Judaine was coming in, and theSacrament was about to be administered. Marie, however, again penetratedby the fever of faith, her hands burning, leant towards Pierre. "Oh, myfriend!" said she, "I pray you hear me confess my fault and absolve me. Ihave blasphemed, and have been guilty of mortal sin. If you do notsuccour me, I shall be unable to receive the Blessed Sacrament, and yet Iso greatly need to be consoled and strengthened. "

The young priest refused her request with a wave of the hand. He hadnever been willing to act as confessor to this friend, the only woman hehad loved in the healthy, smiling days of youth. However, she insisted. "I beg you to do so, " said she; "you will help to work the miracle of mycure. "

Then he gave way and received the avowal of her fault, that impiousrebellion induced by suffering, that rebellion against the Virgin who hadremained deaf to her prayers. And afterwards he granted her absolution inthe sacramental form. 

Meanwhile Abbe Judaine had already deposited the ciborium on a littletable, between two lighted tapers, which looked like woeful stars in thesemi-obscurity of the ward. Madame de Jonquiere had just decided to openone of the windows quite wide, for the odour emanating from all thesuffering bodies and heaped-up rags had become unbearable. But no aircame in from the narrow courtyard into which the window opened; thoughblack with night, it seemed like a well of fire. Having offered to act asserver, Pierre repeated the "Confiteor. " Then, after responding with the"Misereatur" and the "Indulgentiam, " the chaplain, who wore his alb, raised the pyx, saying, "Behold the Lamb of God, who taketh away the sinsof the world. " All the women who, writhing in agony, were impatientlyawaiting the communion, like dying creatures who await life from somefresh medicine which is a long time coming, thereupon thrice repeated, inall humility, and with lips almost closed: "Lord, I am not worthy thatThou shouldst enter under my roof; but only say the word and my soulshall be healed. "

Abbe Judaine had begun to make the round of those woeful beds, accompanied by Pierre, and followed by Madame de Jonquiere and SisterHyacinthe, each of whom carried one of the lighted tapers. The Sisterdesignated those who were to communicate; and, murmuring the customaryLatin words, the priest leant forward and placed the Host somewhat atrandom on the sufferer's tongue. Almost all were waiting for him withwidely opened, glittering eyes, amidst the disorder of that hastilypitched camp. Two were found to be sound asleep, however, and had to beawakened. Several were moaning without being conscious of it, andcontinued moaning even after they had received the sacrament. At the farend of the ward, the rattle of the poor creature who could not be seenstill resounded. And nothing could have been more mournful than theappearance of that little _cortege_ in the semi-darkness, amidst whichthe yellow flames of the tapers gleamed like stars. 

But Marie's face, to which an expression of ecstasy had returned, waslike a divine apparition. Although La Grivotte was hungering for thebread of life, they had refused her the sacrament on this occasion, as itwas to be administered to her in the morning at the Rosary; Madame Vetu, however, had received the Host on her black tongue in a hiccough. And nowMarie was lying there under the pale light of the tapers, looking sobeautiful amidst her fair hair, with her eyes dilated and her featurestransfigured by faith, that everyone admired her. She received thesacrament with rapture; Heaven visibly descended into her poor, youthfulframe, reduced to such physical wretchedness. And, clasping Pierre'shand, she detained him for a moment, saying: "Oh! she will heal me, myfriend, she has just promised me that she will do so. Go and take somerest. I shall sleep so soundly now!"

As he withdrew in company with Abbe Judaine, Pierre caught sight oflittle Madame Desagneaux stretched out in the arm-chair in whichweariness had overpowered her. Nothing could awaken her. It was nowhalf-past one in the morning; and Madame de Jonquiere and her assistant, Sister Hyacinthe, were still going backwards and forwards, turning thepatients over, cleansing them, and dressing their sores. However, theward was becoming more peaceful, its heavy darkness had grown lessoppressive since Bernadette with her charm had passed through it. Thevisionary's little shadow was now flitting in triumph from bed to bed, completing its work, bringing a little of heaven to each of thedespairing ones, each of the disinherited ones of this world; and as theyall at last sank to sleep they could see the little shepherdess, soyoung, so ill herself, leaning over them and kissing them with a kindlysmile. 

THE THIRD DAY

I. BED AND BOARD

AT seven o'clock on the morning of that fine, bright, warm August Sunday, M. De Guersaint was already up and dressed in one of the two little roomswhich he had fortunately been able to secure on the third floor of theHotel of the Apparitions. He had gone to bed at eleven o'clock the nightbefore and had awoke feeling quite fresh and gay. As soon as he wasdressed he entered the adjoining room which Pierre occupied; but theyoung priest, who had not returned to the hotel until past one in themorning, with his blood heated by insomnia, had been unable to doze offuntil daybreak and was now still slumbering. His cassock flung across achair, his other garments scattered here and there, testified to hisgreat weariness and agitation of mind. 

"Come, come, you lazybones!" cried M. De Guersaint gaily; "can't you hearthe bells ringing?"

Pierre awoke with a start, quite surprised to find himself in that littlehotel room into which the sunlight was streaming. All the joyous peals ofthe bells, the music of the chiming, happy town, moreover, came inthrough the window which he had left open. 

"We shall never have time to get to the hospital before eight o'clock tofetch Marie, " resumed M. De Guersaint, "for we must have some breakfast, eh?"

"Of course, make haste and order two cups of chocolate. I will get up atonce, I sha'n't be long, " replied Pierre. 

In spite of the fatigue which had already stiffened his joints, he sprangout of bed as soon as he was alone, and made all haste with his toilet. However, he still had his head in the washing basin, ducking it in thefresh, cool water, when M. De Guersaint, who was unable to remain alone, came back again. "I've given the order, " said he; "they will bring it up. Ah! what a curious place this hotel is! You have of course seen thelandlord, Master Majeste, clad in white from head to foot and looking sodignified in his office. The place is crammed, it appears; they havenever had so many people before. So it is no wonder that there should besuch a fearful noise. I was wakened up three times during the night. People kept on talking in the room next to mine. And you, did you sleepwell?"

"No, indeed, " answered Pierre; "I was tired to death, but I couldn'tclose my eyes. No doubt it was the uproar you speak of that preventedme. "

In his turn he then began to talk of the thin partitions, and the mannerin which the house had been crammed with people until it seemed as thoughthe floors and the walls would collapse with the strain. The place hadbeen shaking all night long; every now and then people suddenly rushedalong the passages, heavy footfalls resounded, gruff voices ascendednobody knew whence; without speaking of all the moaning and coughing, thefrightful coughing which seemed to re-echo from every wall. Throughoutthe night people evidently came in and went out, got up and lay downagain, paying no attention to time in the disorder in which they lived, amid shocks of passion which made them hurry to their devotionalexercises as to pleasure parties. 

"And Marie, how was she when you left her last night?" M. De Guersaintsuddenly inquired. 

"A great deal better, " replied Pierre; "she had an attack of extremediscouragement, but all her courage and faith returned to her at last. "

A pause followed; and then the girl's father resumed with his tranquiloptimism: "Oh! I am not anxious. Things will go on all right, you'll see. For my own part, I am delighted. I had asked the Virgin to grant me herprotection in my affairs--you know, my great invention of navigableballoons. Well, suppose I told you that she has already shown me herfavour? Yes, indeed yesterday evening while I was talking with Abbe desHermoises, he told me that at Toulouse he would no doubt be able to finda person to finance me--one of his friends, in fact, who is extremelywealthy and takes great interest in mechanics! And in this I at once sawthe hand of God!" M. De Guersaint began laughing with his childish laugh, and then he added: "That Abbe des Hermoises is a charming man. I shallsee this afternoon if there is any means of my accompanying him on anexcursion to the Cirque de Gavarnie at small cost. "

Pierre, who wished to pay everything, the hotel bill and all the rest, atonce encouraged him in this idea. "Of course, " said he, "you ought not tomiss this opportunity to visit the mountains, since you have so great awish to do so. Your daughter will be very happy to know that you arepleased. "

Their talk, however, was now interrupted by a servant girl bringing thetwo cups of chocolate with a couple of rolls on a metal tray covered witha napkin. She left the door open as she entered the room, so that aglimpse was obtained of some portion of the passage. "Ah! they arealready doing my neighbour's room!" exclaimed M. De Guersaint. "He is amarried man, isn't he? His wife is with him?"

The servant looked astonished. "Oh, no, " she replied, "he is quitealone!"

"Quite alone? Why, I heard people talking in his room this morning. "

"You must be mistaken, monsieur, " said the servant; "he has just gone outafter giving orders that his room was to be tidied up at once. " And then, while taking the cups of chocolate off the tray and placing them on thetable, she continued: "Oh! he is a very respectable gentleman. Last yearhe was able to have one of the pavilions which Monsieur Majeste lets outto visitors, in the lane by the side of the hotel; but this year heapplied too late and had to content himself with that room, which greatlyworried him, for it isn't a large one, though there is a big cupboard init. As he doesn't care to eat with everybody, he takes his meals there, and he orders good wine and the best of everything, I can tell you. "

"That explains it all!" replied M. De Guersaint gaily; "he dined too welllast night, and I must have heard him talking in his sleep. "

Pierre had been listening somewhat inquisitively to all this chatter. "And on this side, my side, " said he, "isn't there a gentleman with twoladies, and a little boy who walks about with a crutch?"

"Yes, Monsieur l'Abbe, I know them. The aunt, Madame Chaise, took one ofthe two rooms for herself; and Monsieur and Madame Vigneron with theirson Gustave have had to content themselves with the other one. This isthe second year they have come to Lourdes. They are very respectablepeople too. "

Pierre nodded. During the night he had fancied he could recognise thevoice of M. Vigneron, whom the heat doubtless had incommoded. However, the servant was now thoroughly started, and she began to enumerate theother persons whose rooms were reached by the same passage; on the lefthand there was a priest, then a mother with three daughters, and then anold married couple; whilst on the right lodged another gentleman who wasall alone, a young lady, too, who was unaccompanied, and then a familyparty which included five young children. The hotel was crowded to itsgarrets. The servants had had to give up their rooms the previous eveningand lie in a heap in the washhouse. During the night, also, some campbedsteads had even been set up on the landings; and one honourableecclesiastic, for lack of other accommodation, had been obliged to sleepon a billiard-table. 

When the girl had retired and the two men had drunk their chocolate, M. De Guersaint went back into his own room to wash his hands again, for hewas very careful of his person; and Pierre, who remained alone, feltattracted by the gay sunlight, and stepped for a moment on to the narrowbalcony outside his window. Each of the third-floor rooms on this side ofthe hotel was provided with a similar balcony, having a carved-woodbalustrade. However, the young priest's surprise was very great, for hehad scarcely stepped outside when he suddenly saw a woman protrude herhead over the balcony next to him--that of the room occupied by thegentleman whom M. De Guersaint and the servant had been speaking of. 

And this woman he had recognised: it was Madame Volmar. There was nomistaking her long face with its delicate drawn features, its magnificentlarge eyes, those brasiers over which a veil, a dimming _moire_, seemedto pass at times. She gave a start of terror on perceiving him. And he, extremely ill at ease, grieved that he should have frightened her, madeall haste to withdraw into his apartment. A sudden light had dawned uponhim, and he now understood and could picture everything. So this was whyshe had not been seen at the hospital, where little Madame Desagneaux wasalways asking for her. Standing motionless, his heart upset, Pierre fellinto a deep reverie, reflecting on the life led by this woman whom heknew, that torturing conjugal life in Paris between a fiercemother-in-law and an unworthy husband, and then those three days ofcomplete liberty spent at Lourdes, that brief bonfire of passion to whichshe had hastened under the sacrilegious pretext of serving the divinity. Tears whose cause he could not even explain, tears that ascended from thevery depths of his being, from his own voluntary chastity, welled intohis eyes amidst the feeling of intense sorrow which came over him. 

"Well, are you ready?" joyously called M. De Guersaint as he came back, with his grey jacket buttoned up and his hands gloved. 

"Yes, yes, let us go, " replied Pierre, turning aside and pretending tolook for his hat so that he might wipe his eyes. 

Then they went out, and on crossing the threshold heard on their lefthand an unctuous voice which they recognised; it was that of M. Vigneron, who was loudly repeating the morning prayers. A moment afterwards came ameeting which interested them. They were walking down the passage whenthey were passed by a middle-aged, thick-set, sturdy-looking gentleman, wearing carefully trimmed whiskers. He bent his back and passed sorapidly that they were unable to distinguish his features, but theynoticed that he was carrying a carefully made parcel. And immediatelyafterwards he slipped a key into the lock of the room adjoining M. DeGuersaint's, and opening the door disappeared noiselessly, like a shadow. 

M. De Guersaint had glanced round: "Ah! my neighbour, " said he; "he hasbeen to market and has brought back some delicacies, no doubt!"

Pierre pretended not to hear, for his companion was so light-minded thathe did not care to trust him with a secret which was not his own. Besides, a feeling of uneasiness was returning to him, a kind of chasteterror at the thought that the world and the flesh were there takingtheir revenge, amidst all the mystical enthusiasm which he could feelaround him. 

They reached the hospital just as the patients were being brought out tobe carried to the Grotto; and they found that Marie had slept well andwas very gay. She kissed her father and scolded him when she learnt thathe had not yet decided on his trip to Gavarnie. She should really bedispleased with him, she said, if he did not go. Still with the samerestful, smiling expression, she added that she did not expect to becured that day; and then, assuming an air of mystery, she begged Pierreto obtain permission for her to spend the following night before theGrotto. This was a favour which all the sufferers ardently coveted, butwhich only a few favoured ones with difficulty secured. After protesting, anxious as he felt with regard to the effect which a night spent in theopen air might have upon her health, the young priest, seeing how unhappyshe had suddenly become, at last promised that he would make theapplication. Doubtless she imagined that she would only obtain a hearingfrom the Virgin when they were alone together in the slumberingpeacefulness of the night. That morning, indeed, she felt so lost amongthe innumerable patients who were heaped together in front of the Grotto, that already at ten o'clock she asked to be taken back to the hospital, complaining that the bright light tired her eyes. And when her father andthe priest had again installed her in the Sainte-Honorine Ward, she gavethem their liberty for the remainder of the day. "No, don't come to fetchme, " she said, "I shall not go back to the Grotto this afternoon--itwould be useless. But you will come for me this evening at nine o'clock, won't you, Pierre? It is agreed, you have given me your word. "

He repeated that he would endeavour to secure the requisite permission, and that, if necessary, he would apply to Father Fourcade in person. 

"Then, till this evening, darling, " said M. De Guersaint, kissing hisdaughter. And he and Pierre went off together, leaving her lying on herbed, with an absorbed expression on her features, as her large, smilingeyes wandered away into space. 

It was barely half-past ten when they got back to the Hotel of theApparitions; but M. De Guersaint, whom the fine weather delighted, talkedof having _dejeuner_ at once, so that he might the sooner start upon aramble through Lourdes. First of all, however, he wished to go up to hisroom, and Pierre following him, they encountered quite a drama on theirway. The door of the room occupied by the Vignerons was wide open, andlittle Gustave could be seen lying on the sofa which served as his bed. He was livid; a moment previously he had suddenly fainted, and this hadmade the father and mother imagine that the end had come. Madame Vigneronwas crouching on a chair, still stupefied by her fright, whilst M. Vigneron rushed about the room, thrusting everything aside in order thathe might prepare a glass of sugared-water, to which he added a few dropsof some elixir. This draught, he exclaimed, would set the lad rightagain. But all the same, it was incomprehensible. The boy was stillstrong, and to think that he should have fainted like that, and haveturned as white as a chicken! Speaking in this wise, M. Vigneron glancedat Madame Chaise, the aunt, who was standing in front of the sofa, looking in good health that morning; and his hands shook yet moreviolently at the covert idea that if that stupid attack had carried offhis son, they would no longer have inherited the aunt's fortune. He wasquite beside himself at this thought, and eagerly opening the boy's mouthhe compelled him to swallow the entire contents of the glass. Then, however, when he heard Gustave sigh, and saw him open his eyes again, hisfatherly good-nature reappeared, and he shed tears, and called the ladhis dear little fellow. But on Madame Chaise drawing near to offer someassistance, Gustave repulsed her with a sudden gesture of hatred, asthough he understood how this woman's money unconsciously perverted hisparents, who, after all, were worthy folks. Greatly offended, the oldlady turned on her heel, and seated herself in a corner, whilst thefather and mother, at last freed from their anxiety, returned thanks tothe Blessed Virgin for having preserved their darling, who smiled at themwith his intelligent and infinitely sorrowful smile, knowing andunderstanding everything as he did, and no longer having any taste forlife, although he was not fifteen. 

"Can we be of any help to you?" asked Pierre in an obliging way. 

"No, no, I thank you, gentlemen, " replied M. Vigneron, coming for amoment into the passage. "But oh! we did have a fright! Think of it, anonly son, who is so dear to us too. "

All around them the approach of the _dejeuner_ hour was now throwing thehouse into commotion. Every door was banging, and the passages and thestaircase resounded with the constant pitter-patter of feet. Three biggirls passed by, raising a current of air with the sweep of their skirts. Some little children were crying in a neighbouring room. Then there wereold people who seemed quite scared, and distracted priests who, forgetting their calling, caught up their cassocks with both hands, sothat they might run the faster to the dining-room. From the top to thebottom of the house one could feel the floors shaking under the excessiveweight of all the people who were packed inside the hotel. 

"Oh, I hope that it is all over now, and that the Blessed Virgin willcure him, " repeated M. Vigneron, before allowing his neighbours toretire. "We are going down-stairs, for I must confess that all this hasmade me feel faint. I need something to eat, I am terribly hungry. "

When Pierre and M. De Guersaint at last left their rooms, and wentdown-stairs, they found to their annoyance that there was not thesmallest table-corner vacant in the large dining-room. A mostextraordinary mob had assembled there, and the few seats that were stillunoccupied were reserved. A waiter informed them that the room neveremptied between ten and one o'clock, such was the rush of appetite, sharpened by the keen mountain air. So they had to resign themselves towait, requesting the waiter to warn them as soon as there should be acouple of vacant places. Then, scarcely knowing what to do withthemselves, they went to walk about the hotel porch, whence there was aview of the street, along which the townsfolk, in their Sunday best, streamed without a pause. 

All at once, however, the landlord of the Hotel of the Apparitions, Master Majeste in person, appeared before them, clad in white from headto foot; and with a great show of politeness he inquired if the gentlemenwould like to wait in the drawing-room. He was a stout man offive-and-forty, and strove to bear the burden of his name in a rightroyal fashion. Bald and clean-shaven, with round blue eyes in a waxyface, displaying three superposed chins, he always deported himself withmuch dignity. He had come from Nevers with the Sisters who managed theorphan asylum, and was married to a dusky little woman, a native ofLourdes. In less than fifteen years they had made their hotel one of themost substantial and best patronised establishments in the town. Ofrecent times, moreover, they had started a business in religiousarticles, installed in a large shop on the left of the hotel porch andmanaged by a young niece under Madame Majeste's Supervision. 

"You can wait in the drawing-room, gentlemen, " again suggested thehotel-keeper whom Pierre's cassock rendered very attentive. 

They replied, however, that they preferred to walk about and wait in theopen air. And thereupon Majeste would not leave them, but deigned to chatwith them for a moment as he was wont to do with those of his customerswhom he desired to honour. The conversation turned at first on theprocession which would take place that night and which promised to be asuperb spectacle as the weather was so fine. There were more than fiftythousand strangers gathered together in Lourdes that day, for visitorshad come in from all the neighbouring bathing stations. This explainedthe crush at the _table d'hote_. Possibly the town would run short ofbread as had been the case the previous year. 

"You saw what a scramble there is, " concluded Majeste, "we really don'tknow how to manage. It isn't my fault, I assure you, if you are keptwaiting for a short time. "

At this moment, however, a postman arrived with a large batch ofnewspapers and letters which he deposited on a table in the office. Hehad kept one letter in his hand and inquired of the landlord, "Have you aMadame Maze here?"

"Madame Maze, Madame Maze, " repeated the hotel-keeper. "No, no, certainlynot. "

Pierre had heard both question and answer, and drawing near he exclaimed, "I know of a Madame Maze who must be lodging with the Sisters of theImmaculate Conception, the Blue Sisters as people call them here, Ithink. "

The postman thanked him for the information and went off, but a somewhatbitter smile had risen to Majeste's lips. "The Blue Sisters, " hemuttered, "ah! the Blue Sisters. " Then, darting a side glance at Pierre'scassock, he stopped short, as though he feared that he might say toomuch. Yet his heart was overflowing; he would have greatly liked to easehis feelings, and this young priest from Paris, who looked soliberal-minded, could not be one of the "band" as he called all those whodischarged functions at the Grotto and coined money out of Our Lady ofLourdes. Accordingly, little by little, he ventured to speak out. 

"I am a good Christian, I assure you, Monsieur l'Abbe, " said he. "In factwe are all good Christians here. And I am a regular worshipper and takethe sacrament every Easter. But, really, I must say that members of areligious community ought not to keep hotels. No, no, it isn't right!"

And thereupon he vented all the spite of a tradesman in presence of whathe considered to be disloyal competition. Ought not those Blue Sisters, those Sisters of the Immaculate Conception, to have confined themselvesto their real functions, the manufacture of wafers for sacramentalpurposes, and the repairing and washing of church linen? Instead of that, however, they had transformed their convent into a vast hostelry, whereladies who came to Lourdes unaccompanied found separate rooms, and wereable to take their meals either in privacy or in a general dining-room. Everything was certainly very clean, very well organised and veryinexpensive, thanks to the thousand advantages which the Sisters enjoyed;in fact, no hotel at Lourdes did so much business. "But all the same, "continued Majeste, "I ask you if it is proper. To think of nuns sellingvictuals! Besides, I must tell you that the lady superior is really aclever woman, and as soon as she saw the stream of fortune rolling in, she wanted to keep it all for her own community and resolutely partedwith the Fathers of the Grotto who wanted to lay their hands on it. Yes, Monsieur l'Abbe, she even went to Rome and gained her cause there, sothat now she pockets all the money that her bills bring in. Think of it, nuns, yes nuns, _mon Dieu_! letting furnished rooms and keeping a _tabled'hote_!"

He raised his arms to heaven, he was stifling with envy and vexation. 

"But as your house is crammed, " Pierre gently objected, "as you no longerhave either a bed or a plate at anybody's disposal, where would you putany additional visitors who might arrive here?"

Majeste at once began protesting. "Ah! Monsieur l'Abbe!" said he, "onecan see very well that you don't know the place. It's quite true thatthere is work for all of us, and that nobody has reason to complainduring the national pilgrimage. But that only lasts four or five days, and in ordinary times the custom we secure isn't nearly so great. Formyself, thank Heaven, I am always satisfied. My house is well known, itoccupies the same rank as the Hotel of the Grotto, where two landlordshave already made their fortunes. But no matter, it is vexing to seethose Blue Sisters taking all the cream of the custom, for instance theladies of the _bourgeoisie_ who spend a fortnight and three weeks here ata stretch; and that, too, just in the quiet season, when there are notmany people here. You understand, don't you? There are people of positionwho dislike uproar; they go by themselves to the Grotto, and pray thereall day long, for days together, and pay good prices for theiraccommodation without any higgling. "

Madame Majeste, whom Pierre and M. De Guersaint had not noticed leaningover an account-book in which she was adding up some figures, thereuponintervened in a shrill voice: "We had a customer like that, gentlemen, who stayed here for two months last year. She went to the Grotto, cameback, went there again, took her meals, and went to bed. And never did wehave a word of complaint from her; she was always smiling, as though tosay that she found everything very nice. She paid her bill, too, withouteven looking at it. Ah! one regrets people of that kind. "

Short, thin, very dark, and dressed in black, with a little white collar, Madame Majeste had risen to her feet; and she now began to solicitcustom: "If you would like to buy a few little souvenirs of Lourdesbefore you leave, gentlemen, I hope that you will not forget us. We havea shop close by, where you will find an assortment of all the articlesthat are most in request. As a rule, the persons who stay here are kindenough not to deal elsewhere. "

However, Majeste was again wagging his head, with the air of a goodChristian saddened by the scandals of the time. "Certainly, " said he, "Idon't want to show any disrespect to the reverend Fathers, but it must inall truth be admitted that they are too greedy. You must have seen theshop which they have set up near the Grotto, that shop which is alwayscrowded, and where tapers and articles of piety are sold. A bishopdeclared that it was shameful, and that the buyers and sellers ought tobe driven out of the temple afresh. It is said, too, that the Fathers runthat big shop yonder, just across the street, which supplies all thepetty dealers in the town. And, according to the reports which circulate, they have a finger in all the trade in religious articles, and levy apercentage on the millions of chaplets, statuettes, and medals which aresold every year at Lourdes. "

Majeste had now lowered his voice, for his accusations were becomingprecise, and he ended by trembling somewhat at his imprudence in talkingso confidentially to strangers. However, the expression of Pierre'sgentle, attentive face reassured him; and so he continued with thepassion of a wounded rival, resolved to go on to the very end: "I amwilling to admit that there is some exaggeration in all this. But all thesame, it does religion no good for people to see the reverend Fatherskeeping shops like us tradesmen. For my part, of course, I don't go andask for a share of the money which they make by their masses, or apercentage on the presents which they receive, so why should they startselling what I sell? Our business was a poor one last year owing to them. There are already too many of us; nowadays everyone at Lourdes sells'religious articles, ' to such an extent, in fact, that there will soon beno butchers or wine merchants left--nothing but bread to eat and water todrink. Ah! Monsieur l'Abbe, it is no doubt nice to have the BlessedVirgin with us, but things are none the less very bad at times. "

A person staying at the hotel at that moment disturbed him, but hereturned just as a young girl came in search of Madame Majeste. Thedamsel, who evidently belonged to Lourdes, was very pretty, small butplump, with beautiful black hair, and a round face full of bright gaiety. 

"That is our niece Apolline, " resumed Majeste. "She has been keeping ourshop for two years past. She is the daughter of one of my wife'sbrothers, who is in poor circumstances. She was keeping sheep at Ossun, in the neighbourhood of Bartres, when we were struck by her intelligenceand nice looks and decided to bring her here; and we don't repent havingdone so, for she has a great deal of merit, and has become a very goodsaleswoman. "

A point to which he omitted to refer, was that there were rumours currentof somewhat flighty conduct on Mademoiselle Apolline's part. But sheundoubtedly had her value: she attracted customers by the power, possibly, of her large black eyes, which smiled so readily. During hissojourn at Lourdes the previous year, Gerard de Peyrelongue had scarcelystirred from the shop she managed, and doubtless it was only thematrimonial ideas now flitting through his head that prevented him fromreturning thither. It seemed as though the Abbe des Hermoises had takenhis place, for this gallant ecclesiastic brought a great many ladies tomake purchases at the repository. 

"Ah! you are speaking of Apolline, " said Madame Majeste, at that momentcoming back from the shop. "Have you noticed one thing about her, gentlemen--her extraordinary likeness to Bernadette? There, on the wallyonder, is a photograph of Bernadette when she was eighteen years old. "

Pierre and M. De Guersaint drew near to examine the portrait, whilstMajeste exclaimed: "Bernadette, yes, certainly--she was rather likeApolline, but not nearly so nice; she looked so sad and poor. "

He would doubtless have gone on chattering, but just then the waiterappeared and announced that there was at last a little table vacant. M. De Guersaint had twice gone to glance inside the dining-room, for he waseager to have his _dejeuner_ and spend the remainder of that fine Sundayout-of-doors. So he now hastened away, without paying any furtherattention to Majeste, who remarked, with an amiable smile, that thegentlemen had not had so very long to wait after all. 

To reach the table mentioned by the waiter, the architect and Pierre hadto cross the dining-room from end to end. It was a long apartment, painted a light oak colour, an oily yellow, which was already peelingaway in places and soiled with stains in others. You realised that rapidwear and tear went on here amidst the continual scramble of the bigeaters who sat down at table. The only ornaments were a gilt zinc clockand a couple of meagre candelabra on the mantelpiece. Guipure curtains, moreover, hung at the five large windows looking on to the street, whichwas flooded with sunshine; some of the fierce arrow-like rays penetratinginto the room although the blinds had been lowered. And, in the middle ofthe apartment, some forty persons were packed together at the _tabled'hote_, which was scarcely eleven yards in length and did not supplyproper accommodation for more than thirty people; whilst at the littletables standing against the walls upon either side another forty personssat close together, hustled by the three waiters each time that they wentby. You had scarcely reached the threshold before you were deafened bythe extraordinary uproar, the noise of voices and the clatter of forksand plates; and it seemed, too, as if you were entering a damp oven, fora warm, steamy mist, laden with a suffocating smell of victuals, assailedthe face. 

Pierre at first failed to distinguish anything, but, when he wasinstalled at the little table--a garden-table which had been broughtindoors for the occasion, and on which there was scarcely room for twocovers--he felt quite upset, almost sick, in fact, at the sight presentedby the _table d'hote_, which his glance now enfiladed from end to end. People had been eating at it for an hour already, two sets of customershad followed one upon the other, and the covers were strewn about inhiggledy-piggledy fashion. On the cloth were numerous stains of wine andsauce, while there was no symmetry even in the arrangement of the glassfruit-stands, which formed the only decorations of the table. And one'sastonishment increased at sight of the motley mob which was collectedthere--huge priests, scraggy girls, mothers overflowing with superfluousfat, gentlemen with red faces, and families ranged in rows and displayingall the pitiable, increasing ugliness of successive generations. Allthese people were perspiring, greedily swallowing, seated slantwise, lacking room to move their arms, and unable even to use their handsdeftly. And amidst this display of appetite, increased tenfold byfatigue, and of eager haste to fill one's stomach in order to return tothe Grotto more quickly, there was a corpulent ecclesiastic who in nowise hurried, but ate of every dish with prudent slowness, crunching hisfood with a ceaseless, dignified movement of the jaws. 

"_Fichtre_!" exclaimed M. De Guersaint, "it is by no means cool in here. All the same, I shall be glad of something to eat, for I've felt asinking in the stomach ever since I have been at Lourdes. And you--areyou hungry?"

"Yes, yes, I shall eat, " replied Pierre, though, truth to tell, he feltquite upset. 

The _menu_ was a copious one. There was salmon, an omelet, mutton cutletswith mashed potatoes, stewed kidneys, cauliflowers, cold meats, andapricot tarts--everything cooked too much, and swimming in sauce which, but for its grittiness, would have been flavourless. However, there wassome fairly fine fruit on the glass stands, particularly some peaches. And, besides, the people did not seem at all difficult to please; theyapparently had no palates, for there was no sign of nausea. Hemmed inbetween an old priest and a dirty, full-bearded man, a girl of delicatebuild, who looked very pretty with her soft eyes and silken skin, waseating some kidneys with an expression of absolute beatitude, althoughthe so-called "sauce" in which they swam was simply greyish water. 

"Hum!" resumed even M. De Guersaint, "this salmon is not so bad. Add alittle salt to it and you will find it all right. "

Pierre made up his mind to eat, for after all he must take sustenance forstrength's sake. At a little table close by, however, he had just caughtsight of Madame Vigneron and Madame Chaise, who sat face to face, apparently waiting. And indeed, M. Vigneron and his son Gustave soonappeared, the latter still pale, and leaning more heavily than usual onhis crutch. "Sit down next to your aunt, " said his father; "I will takethe chair beside your mother. " But just then he perceived his twoneighbours, and stepping up to them, he added: "Oh! he is now all rightagain. I have been rubbing him with some eau-de-Cologne, and by-and-by hewill be able to take his bath at the piscina. "

Thereupon M. Vigneron sat down and began to devour. But what an awfulfright he had had! He again began talking of it aloud, despite himself, so intense had been his terror at the thought that the lad might go offbefore his aunt. The latter related that whilst she was kneeling at theGrotto the day before, she had experienced a sudden feeling of relief; infact, she flattered herself that she was cured of her heart complaint, and began giving precise particulars, to which her brother-in-lawlistened with dilated eyes, full of involuntary anxiety. Most certainlyhe was a good-natured man, he had never desired anybody's death; only hefelt indignant at the idea that the Virgin might cure this old woman, andforget his son, who was so young. Talking and eating, he had got to thecutlets, and was swallowing the mashed potatoes by the forkful, when hefancied he could detect that Madame Chaise was sulking with her nephew. "Gustave, " he suddenly inquired, "have you asked your aunt'sforgiveness?" The lad, quite astonished, began staring at his father withhis large clear eyes. "Yes, " added M. Vigneron, "you behaved very badly, you pushed her back just now when she wanted to help you to sit up. "

Madame Chaise said nothing, but waited with a dignified air, whilstGustave, who, without any show of appetite, was finishing the _noix_ ofhis cutlet, which had been cut into small pieces, remained with his eyeslowered on his plate, this time obstinately refusing to make the sorryshow of affection which was demanded of him. 

"Come, Gustave, " resumed his father, "be a good boy. You know how kindyour aunt is, and all that she intends to do for you. "

But no, he would not yield. At that moment, indeed, he really hated thatwoman, who did not die quickly enough, who polluted the affection of hisparents, to such a point that when he saw them surround him withattentions he no longer knew whether it were himself or the inheritancewhich his life represented that they wished to save. However, MadameVigneron, so dignified in her demeanour, came to her husband's help. "Youreally grieve me, Gustave, " said she; "ask your aunt's forgiveness, oryou will make me quite angry with you. "

Thereupon he gave way. What was the use of resisting? Was it not betterthat his parents should obtain that money? Would he not himself die lateron, so as to suit the family convenience? He was aware of all that; heunderstood everything, even when not a word was spoken. So keen was thesense of hearing with which suffering had endowed him, that he even heardthe others' thoughts. 

"I beg your pardon, aunt, " he said, "for not having behaved well to youjust now. "

Then two big tears rolled from his eyes, whilst he smiled with the air ofa tender-hearted man who has seen too much of life and can no longer bedeceived by anything. Madame Chaise at once kissed him and told him thatshe was not at all angry. And the Vignerons' delight in living wasdisplayed in all candour. 

"If the kidneys are not up to much, " M. De Guersaint now said to Pierre, "here at all events are some cauliflowers with a good flavour. "

The formidable mastication was still going on around them. Pierre hadnever seen such an amount of eating, amidst such perspiration, in anatmosphere as stifling as that of a washhouse full of hot steam. Theodour of the victuals seemed to thicken into a kind of smoke. You had toshout to make yourself heard, for everybody was talking in loud tones, and the scared waiters raised a fearful clatter in changing the platesand forks; not to mention the noise of all the jaw-crunching, a mill-likegrinding which was distinctly audible. What most hurt the feelings of theyoung priest, however, was the extraordinary promiscuity of the _tabled'hote_, at which men and women, young girls and ecclesiastics, werepacked together in chance order, and satisfied their hunger like a packof hounds snapping at offal in all haste. Baskets of bread went round andwere promptly emptied. And there was a perfect massacre of cold meats, all the remnants of the victuals of the day before, leg of mutton, veal, and ham, encompassed by a fallen mass of transparent jelly which quiveredlike soft glue. They had all eaten too much already, but these viandsseemed to whet their appetites afresh, as though the idea had come tothem that nothing whatever ought to be left. The fat priest in the middleof the table, who had shown himself such a capital knife-and-fork, wasnow lingering over the fruit, having just got to his third peach, a hugeone, which he slowly peeled and swallowed in slices with an air ofcompunction. 

All at once, however, the whole room was thrown into agitation. A waiterhad come in and begun distributing the letters which Madame Majeste hadfinished sorting. "Hallo!" exclaimed M. Vigneron; "a letter for me! Thisis surprising--I did not give my address to anybody. " Then, at a suddenrecollection, he added, "Yes I did, though; this must have come fromSauvageot, who is filling my place at the Ministry. " He opened theletter, his hands began to tremble, and suddenly he raised a cry: "Thechief clerk is dead!"

Deeply agitated, Madame Vigneron was also unable to bridle her tongue:"Then you will have the appointment!"

This was the secret dream in which they had so long and so fondlyindulged: the chief clerk's death, in order that he, Vigneron, assistantchief clerk for ten years past, might at last rise to the supreme post, the bureaucratic marshalship. And so great was his delight that he castaside all restraint. "Ah! the Blessed Virgin is certainly protecting me, my dear. Only this morning I again prayed to her for a rise, and, yousee, she grants my prayer!"

However, finding Madame Chaise's eyes fixed upon his own, and seeingGustave smile, he realised that he ought not to exult in this fashion. Each member of the family no doubt thought of his or her interests andprayed to the Blessed Virgin for such personal favours as might bedesired. And so, again putting on his good-natured air, he resumed: "Imean that the Blessed Virgin takes an interest in every one of us andwill send us all home well satisfied. Ah! the poor chief, I'm sorry forhim. I shall have to send my card to his widow. "

In spite of all his efforts he could not restrain his exultation, and nolonger doubted that his most secret desires, those which he did not evenconfess to himself, would soon be gratified. And so all honour was doneto the apricot tarts, even Gustave being allowed to eat a portion of one. 

"It is surprising, " now remarked M. De Guersaint, who had just ordered acup of coffee; "it is surprising that one doesn't see more sick peoplehere. All these folks seem to me to have first-rate appetites. "

After a close inspection, however, in addition to Gustave, who ate nomore than a little chicken, he ended by finding a man with a goitreseated at the _table d'hote_ between two women, one of whom certainlysuffered from cancer. Farther on, too, there was a girl so thin and palethat she must surely be a consumptive. And still farther away there was afemale idiot who had made her entry leaning on two relatives, and withexpressionless eyes and lifeless features was now carrying her food toher mouth with a spoon, and slobbering over her napkin. Perhaps therewere yet other ailing ones present who could not be distinguished amongall those noisy appetites, ailing ones whom the journey had braced, andwho were eating as they had not eaten for a long time past. The apricottarts, the cheese, the fruits were all engulfed amidst the increasingdisorder of the table, where at last there only remained the stains ofall the wine and sauce which had been spilt upon the cloth. 

It was nearly noon. "We will go back to the Grotto at once, eh?" said M. Vigneron. 

Indeed, "To the Grotto! To the Grotto!" were well-nigh the only words younow heard. The full mouths were eagerly masticating and swallowing, inorder that they might repeat prayers and hymns again with all speed. "Well, as we have the whole afternoon before us, " declared M. DeGuersaint, "I suggest that we should visit the town a little. I want tosee also if I can get a conveyance for my excursion, as my daughter soparticularly wishes me to make it. "

Pierre, who was stifling, was glad indeed to leave the dining-room. Inthe porch he was able to breathe again, though even there he found atorrent of customers, new arrivals who were waiting for places. No soonerdid one of the little tables become vacant than its possession waseagerly contested, whilst the smallest gap at the _table d'hote_ wasinstantly filled up. In this wise the assault would continue for morethan another hour, and again would the different courses of the _menu_appear in procession, to be engulfed amidst the crunching of jaws, thestifling heat, and the growing nausea. 

II. THE "ORDINARY. "

WHEN Pierre and M. De Guersaint got outside they began walking slowlyamidst the ever-growing stream of the Sundayfied crowd. The sky was abright blue, the sun warmed the whole town, and there was a festivegaiety in the atmosphere, the keen delight that attends those great fairswhich bring entire communities into the open air. When they had descendedthe crowded footway of the Avenue de la Grotte, and had reached thecorner of the Plateau de la Merlasse, they found their way barred by athrong which was flowing backward amidst a block of vehicles and stampingof horses. "There is no hurry, however, " remarked M. De Guersaint. "Myidea is to go as far as the Place du Marcadal in the old town; for theservant girl at the hotel told me of a hairdresser there whose brotherlets out conveyances cheaply. Do you mind going so far?"

"I?" replied Pierre. "Go wherever you like, I'll follow you. "

"All right--and I'll profit by the opportunity to have a shave. "

They were nearing the Place du Rosaire, and found themselves in front ofthe lawns stretching to the Gave, when an encounter again stopped them. Mesdames Desagneaux and Raymonde de Jonquiere were here, chatting gailywith Gerard de Peyrelongue. Both women wore light-coloured gowns, seasidedresses as it were, and their white silk parasols shone in the brightsunlight. They imparted, so to say, a pretty note to the scene--a touchof society chatter blended with the fresh laughter of youth. 

"No, no, " Madame Desagneaux was saying, "we certainly can't go and visityour 'ordinary' like that--at the very moment when all your comrades areeating. "

Gerard, however, with a very gallant air, insisted on their accompanyinghim, turning more particularly towards Raymonde, whose somewhat massiveface was that day brightened by the radiant charm of health. 

"But it is a very curious sight, I assure you, " said the young man, "andyou would be very respectfully received. Trust yourself to me, mademoiselle. Besides, we should certainly find M. Berthaud there, and hewould be delighted to do you the honours. "

Raymonde smiled, her clear eyes plainly saying that she was quiteagreeable. And just then, as Pierre and M. De Guersaint drew near inorder to present their respects to the ladies, they were made acquaintedwith the question under discussion. The "ordinary" was a kind ofrestaurant or _table d'hote_ which the members of the Hospitality of OurLady of Salvation--the bearers, the hospitallers of the Grotto, thepiscinas, and the hospitals--had established among themselves with theview of taking their meals together at small cost. Many of them were notrich, for they were recruited among all classes; however, they hadcontrived to secure three good meals for the daily payment of threefrancs apiece. And in fact they soon had provisions to spare anddistributed them among the poor. Everything was in their own management;they purchased their own supplies, recruited a cook and a few waiters, and did not disdain to lend a hand themselves, in order that everythingmight be comfortable and orderly. 

"It must be very interesting, " said M, de Guersaint, when theseexplanations had been given him. "Let us go and see it, if we are not inthe way. "

Little Madame Desagneaux thereupon gave her consent. "Well, if we aregoing in a party, " said she, "I am quite willing. But when this gentlemanfirst proposed to take Raymonde and me, I was afraid that it might not bequite proper. "

Then, as she began to laugh, the others followed her example. She hadaccepted M. De Guersaint's arm, and Pierre walked beside her on the otherhand, experiencing a sudden feeling of sympathy for this gay littlewoman, who was so full of life and so charming with her fair frizzy hairand creamy complexion. 

Behind them came Raymonde, leaning upon Gerard's arm and talking to himin the calm, staid voice of a young lady who holds the best principlesdespite her air of heedless youth. And since here was the husband whomshe had so often dreamt of, she resolved that she would this time securehim, make him beyond all question her own. She intoxicated him with theperfume of health and youth which she diffused, and at the same timeastonished him by her knowledge of housewifely duties and of the mannerin which money may be economised even in the most trifling matters; forhaving questioned him with regard to the purchases which he and hiscomrades made for their "ordinary, " she proceeded to show him that theymight have reduced their expenditure still further. 

Meantime M. De Guersaint and Madame Desagneaux were also chattingtogether: "You must be fearfully tired, madame, " said the architect. 

But with a gesture of revolt, and an exclamation of genuine anger, shereplied: "Oh no, indeed! Last night, it is true, fatigue quite overcameme at the hospital; I sat down and dozed off, and Madame de Jonquiere andthe other ladies were good enough to let me sleep on. " At this the othersagain began to laugh; but still with the same angry air she continued:"And so I slept like a log until this morning. It was disgraceful, especially as I had sworn that I would remain up all night. " Then, merriment gaining upon her in her turn, she suddenly burst into asonorous laugh, displaying her beautiful white teeth. "Ah! a pretty nurseI am, and no mistake! It was poor Madame de Jonquiere who had to remainon her legs all the time. I tried to coax her to come out with us justnow. But she preferred to take a little rest. "

Raymonde, who overheard these words, thereupon raised her voice to say:"Yes, indeed, my poor mamma could no longer keep on her feet. It was Iwho compelled her to lie down, telling her that she could go to sleepwithout any uneasiness, for we should get on all right without her--"

So saying, the girl gave Gerard a laughing glance. He even fancied thathe could detect a faint squeeze of the fresh round arm which was restingon his own, as though, indeed, she had wished to express her happiness atbeing alone with him so that they might settle their own affairs withoutany interference. This quite delighted him; and he began to explain thatif he had not had _dejeuner_ with his comrades that day, it was becausesome friends had invited him to join them at the railway-stationrefreshment-room at ten o'clock, and had not given him his liberty untilafter the departure of the eleven-thirty train. 

"Ah! the rascals!" he suddenly resumed. "Do you hear them, mademoiselle?"

The little party was now nearing its destination, and the uproariouslaughter and chatter of youth rang out from a clump of trees whichconcealed the old zinc and plaster building in which the "ordinary" wasinstalled. Gerard began by taking the visitors into the kitchen, a veryspacious apartment, well fitted up, and containing a huge range and animmense table, to say nothing of numerous gigantic cauldrons. Here, moreover, the young man called the attention of his companions to thecircumstance that the cook, a fat, jovial-looking man, had the red crosspinned on his white jacket, being himself a member of the pilgrimage. Then, pushing open a door, Gerard invited his friends to enter the commonroom. 

It was a long apartment containing two rows of plain deal tables; and theonly other articles of furniture were numerous rush-seated tavern chairs, with an additional table which served as a sideboard. The whitewashedwalls and the flooring of shiny, red tiles looked, however, extremelyclean amidst this intentional bareness, which was similar to that of amonkish refectory. But, the feature of the place which more particularlystruck you, as you crossed the threshold, was the childish gaiety whichreigned there; for, packed together at the tables, were a hundred andfifty hospitallers of all ages, eating with splendid appetites, laughing, applauding, and singing, with their mouths full. A wondrous fraternityunited these men, who had flocked to Lourdes from every province ofFrance, and who belonged to all classes, and represented every degree offortune. Many of them knew nothing of one another, save that they methere and elbowed one another during three days every year, livingtogether like brothers, and then going off and remaining in absoluteignorance of each other during the rest of the twelvemonth. Nothing couldbe more charming, however, than to meet again at the next pilgrimage, united in the same charitable work, and to spend a few days of hardlabour and boyish delight in common once more; for it all became, as itwere, an "outing" of a number of big fellows, let loose under a lovelysky, and well pleased to be able to enjoy themselves and laugh together. And even the frugality of the table, with the pride of managing thingsthemselves, of eating the provisions which they had purchased and cooked, added to the general good humour. 

"You see, " explained Gerard, "we are not at all inclined to be sad, although we have so much hard work to get through. The Hospitalitynumbers more than three hundred members, but there are only about onehundred and fifty here at a time, for we have had to organise twosuccessive services, so that there may always be some of us on duty atthe Grotto and the hospitals. "

The sight of the little party of visitors assembled on the threshold ofthe room seemed to have increased the general delight; and Berthaud, thesuperintendent of the bearers, who was lunching at the head of one of thetables, gallantly rose up to receive the ladies. 

"But it smells very nice, " exclaimed Madame Desagneaux in her giddy way. "Won't you invite us to come and taste your cookery to-morrow?"

"Oh! we can't ask ladies, " replied Berthaud, laughing. "But if yougentlemen would like to join us to-morrow we should be extremely pleasedto entertain you. "

He had at once noticed the good understanding which prevailed betweenGerard and Raymonde, and seemed delighted at it, for he greatly wishedhis cousin to make this match. He laughed pleasantly, at the enthusiasticgaiety which the young girl displayed as she began to question him. "Isnot that the Marquis de Salmon-Roquebert, " she asked, "who is sittingover yonder between those two young men who look like shop assistants?"

"They are, in fact, the sons of a small stationer at Tarbes, " repliedBerthaud; "and that is really the Marquis, your neighbour of the Rue deLille, the owner of that magnificent mansion, one of the richest and mostnoble men of title in France. You see how he is enjoying our muttonstew!"

It was true, the millionaire Marquis seemed delighted to be able to boardhimself for his three francs a day, and to sit down at table in genuinedemocratic fashion by the side of petty _bourgeois_ and workmen who wouldnot have dared to accost him in the street. Was not that chance tablesymbolical of social communion, effected by the joint practice ofcharity? For his part, the Marquis was the more hungry that day, as hehad bathed over sixty patients, sufferers from all the most abominablediseases of unhappy humanity, at the piscinas that morning. And the scenearound him seemed like a realisation of the evangelical commonalty; butdoubtless it was so charming and so gay simply because its duration waslimited to three days. 

Although M. De Guersaint had but lately risen from table, his curiosityprompted him to taste the mutton stew, and he pronounced it perfect. Meantime, Pierre caught sight of Baron Suire, the director of theHospitality, walking about between the rows of tables with an air of someimportance, as though he had allotted himself the task of keeping an eyeon everything, even on the manner in which his staff fed itself. Theyoung priest thereupon remembered the ardent desire which Marie hadexpressed to spend the night in front of the Grotto, and it occurred tohim that the Baron might be willing to give the necessary authorisation. 

"Certainly, " replied the director, who had become quite grave whilstlistening to Pierre, "we do sometimes allow it; but it is always a verydelicate matter! You assure me at all events that this young person isnot consumptive? Well, well, since you say that she so much desires it Iwill mention the matter to Father Fourcade and warn Madame de Jonquiere, so that she may let you take the young lady away. "

He was in reality a very good-natured fellow, albeit so fond of assumingthe air of an indispensable man weighed down by the heaviestresponsibilities. In his turn he now detained the visitors, and gave themfull particulars concerning the organisation of the Hospitality. Itsmembers said prayers together every morning. Two board meetings were heldeach day, and were attended by all the heads of departments, as well asby the reverend Fathers and some of the chaplains. All the hospitallerstook the Sacrament as frequently as possible. And, moreover, there weremany complicated tasks to be attended to, a prodigious rotation ofduties, quite a little world to be governed with a firm hand. The Baronspoke like a general who each year gains a great victory over the spiritof the age; and, sending Berthaud back to finish his _dejeuner_, heinsisted on escorting the ladies into the little sanded courtyard, whichwas shaded by some fine trees. 

"It is very interesting, very interesting, " repeated Madame Desagneaux. "We are greatly obliged to you for your kindness, monsieur. "

"Don't mention it, don't mention it, madame, " answered the Baron. "It isI who am pleased at having had an opportunity to show you my littlearmy. "

So far Gerard had not quitted Raymonde's side; but M. De Guersaint andPierre were already exchanging glances suggestive of leave-taking, inorder that they might repair by themselves to the Place du Marcadal, whenMadame Desagneaux suddenly remembered that a friend had requested her tosend her a bottle of Lourdes water. And she thereupon asked Gerard howshe was to execute this commission. The young man began to laugh. "Willyou again accept me as a guide?" said he. "And by the way, if thesegentlemen like to come as well, I will show you the place where thebottles are filled, corked, packed in cases, and then sent off. It is acurious sight. "

M. De Guersaint immediately consented; and all five of them set outagain, Madame Desagneaux still between the architect and the priest, whilst Raymonde and Gerard brought up the rear. The crowd in the burningsunlight was increasing; the Place du Rosaire was now overflowing with anidle sauntering mob resembling some concourse of sight-seers on a day ofpublic rejoicing. 

The bottling and packing shops were situated under one of the arches onthe left-hand side of the Place. They formed a suite of three apartmentsof very simple aspect. In the first one the bottles were filled in themost ordinary of fashions. A little green-painted zinc barrel, not unlikea watering-cask, was dragged by a man from the Grotto, and thelight-coloured bottles were then simply filled at its tap, one by one;the blouse-clad workman entrusted with the duty exercising no particularwatchfulness to prevent the water from overflowing. In fact there wasquite a puddle of it upon the ground. There were no labels on thebottles; the little leaden capsules placed over the corks alone bore aninscription, and they were coated with a kind of ceruse, doubtless toensure preservation. Then came two other rooms which formed regularpacking shops, with carpenters' benches, tools, and heaps of shavings. The boxes, most frequently made for one bottle or for two, were puttogether with great care, and the bottles were deposited inside them, onbeds of fine wood parings. The scene reminded one in some degree of thepacking halls for flowers at Nice and for preserved fruits at Grasse. 

Gerard went on giving explanations with a quiet, satisfied air. "Thewater, " he said, "really comes from the Grotto, as you can yourselvessee, so that all the foolish jokes which one hears really have no basis. And everything is perfectly simple, natural, and goes on in the broaddaylight. I would also point out to you that the Fathers don't sell thewater as they are accused of doing. For instance, a bottle of water herecosts twenty centimes, * which is only the price of the bottle itself. Ifyou wish to have it sent to anybody you naturally have to pay for thepacking and the carriage, and then it costs you one franc and seventycentimes. ** However, you are perfectly at liberty to go to the source andfill the flasks and cans and other receptacles that you may choose tobring with you. "

 * Four cents, U. S. A. 

 ** About 32 cents, U. S. A. 

Pierre reflected that the profits of the reverend Fathers in this respectcould not be very large ones, for their gains were limited to what theymade by manufacturing the boxes and supplying the bottles, which latter, purchased by the thousand, certainly did not cost them so much as twentycentimes apiece. However, Raymonde and Madame Desagneaux, as well as M. De Guersaint, who had such a lively imagination, experienced deepdisappointment at sight of the little green barrel, the capsules, stickywith ceruse, and the piles of shavings lying around the benches. They haddoubtless imagined all sorts of ceremonies, the observance of certainrites in bottling the miraculous water, priests in vestments pronouncingblessings, and choir-boys singing hymns of praise in pure crystallinevoices. For his part, Pierre, in presence of all this vulgar bottling andpacking, ended by thinking of the active power of faith. When one ofthose bottles reaches some far-away sick-room, and is unpacked there, andthe sufferer falls upon his knees, and so excites himself bycontemplating and drinking the pure water that he actually brings aboutthe cure of his ailment, there must truly be a most extraordinary plungeinto all-powerful illusion. 

"Ah!" exclaimed Gerard as they came out, "would you like to see thestorehouse where the tapers are kept, before going to the offices? It isonly a couple of steps away. "

And then, not even waiting for their answer, he led them to the oppositeside of the Place du Rosaire. His one desire was to amuse Raymonde, but, in point of fact, the aspect of the place where the tapers were storedwas even less entertaining than that of the packing-rooms which they hadjust left. This storehouse, a kind of deep vault under one of theright-hand arches of the Place, was divided by timber into a number ofspacious compartments, in which lay an extraordinary collection oftapers, classified according to size. The overplus of all the tapersoffered to the Grotto was deposited here; and such was the number ofthese superfluous candles that the little conveyances stationed near theGrotto railing, ready to receive the pilgrims' offerings, had to bebrought to the storehouse several times a day in order to be emptiedthere, after which they were returned to the Grotto, and were promptlyfilled again. In theory, each taper that was offered ought to have beenburnt at the feet of the Virgin's statue; but so great was the number ofthese offerings, that, although a couple of hundred tapers of all sizeswere kept burning by day and night, it was impossible to exhaust thesupply, which went on increasing and increasing. There was a rumour thatthe Fathers could not even find room to store all this wax, but had tosell it over and over again; and, indeed, certain friends of the Grottoconfessed, with a touch of pride, that the profit on the tapers alonewould have sufficed to defray all the expenses of the business. 

The quantity of these votive candles quite stupefied Raymonde and MadameDesagneaux. How many, how many there were! The smaller ones, costing fromfifty centimes to a franc apiece, were piled up in fabulous numbers. M. De Guersaint, desirous of getting at the exact figures, quite losthimself in the puzzling calculation he attempted. As for Pierre, it wasin silence that he gazed upon this mass of wax, destined to be burnt inopen daylight to the glory of God; and although he was by no means arigid utilitarian, and could well understand that some apparent acts ofextravagance yield an illusive enjoyment and satisfaction which providehumanity with as much sustenance as bread, he could not, on the otherhand, refrain from reflecting on the many benefits which might have beenconferred on the poor and the ailing with the money represented by allthat wax, which would fly away in smoke. 

"But come, what about that bottle which I am to send off?" abruptly askedMadame Desagneaux. 

"We will go to the office, " replied Gerard. "In five minutes everythingwill be settled. "

They had to cross the Place du Rosaire once more and ascend the stonestairway leading to the Basilica. The office was up above, on the lefthand, at the corner of the path leading to the Calvary. The building wasa paltry one, a hut of lath and plaster which the wind and the rain hadreduced to a state of ruin. On a board outside was the inscription:"Apply here with reference to Masses, Offerings, and Brotherhoods. Forwarding office for Lourdes water. Subscriptions to the 'Annals of O. L. Of Lourdes. '" How many millions of people must have already passedthrough this wretched shanty, which seemed to date from the innocent dayswhen the foundations of the adjacent Basilica had scarcely been laid!

The whole party went in, eager to see what might be inside. But theysimply found a wicket at which Madame Desagneaux had to stop in order togive her friend's name and address; and when she had paid one franc andseventy centimes, a small printed receipt was handed her, such as youreceive on registering luggage at a railway station. 

As soon as they were outside again Gerard pointed to a large buildingstanding two or three hundred yards away, and resumed: "There, that iswhere the Fathers reside. "

"But we see nothing of them, " remarked Pierre. 

This observation so astonished the young man that he remained for amoment without replying. "It's true, " he at last said, "we do not seethem, but then they give up the custody of everything--the Grotto and allthe rest--to the Fathers of the Assumption during the nationalpilgrimage. "

Pierre looked at the building which had been pointed out to him, andnoticed that it was a massive stone pile resembling a fortress. Thewindows were closed, and the whole edifice looked lifeless. Yeteverything at Lourdes came from it, and to it also everything returned. It seemed, in fact, to the young priest that he could hear the silent, formidable rake-stroke which extended over the entire valley, whichcaught hold of all who had come to the spot, and placed both the gold andthe blood of the throng in the clutches of those reverend Fathers!However, Gerard just then resumed in a low voice "But come, they do showthemselves, for here is the reverend superior, Father Capdebarthehimself. "

An ecclesiastic was indeed just passing, a man with the appearance of apeasant, a knotty frame, and a large head which looked as though carvedwith a billhook. His opaque eyes were quite expressionless, and his face, with its worn features, had retained a loamy tint, a gloomy, russetreflection of the earth. Monseigneur Laurence had really made a politicselection in confiding the organisation and management of the Grotto tothose Garaison missionaries, who were so tenacious and covetous, for themost part sons of mountain peasants and passionately attached to thesoil. 

However, the little party now slowly retraced its steps by way of thePlateau de la Merlasse, the broad boulevard which skirts the inclined wayon the left hand and leads to the Avenue de la Grotte. It was alreadypast one o'clock, but people were still eating their _dejeuners_ from oneto the other end of the overflowing town. Many of the fifty thousandpilgrims and sight-seers collected within it had not yet been able to sitdown and eat; and Pierre, who had left the _table d'hote_ still crowded, who had just seen the hospitallers squeezing together so gaily at the"ordinary, " found more and more tables at each step he took. On all sidespeople were eating, eating without a pause. Hereabouts, however, in theopen air, on either side of the broad road, the hungry ones were humblefolk who had rushed upon the tables set up on either footway--tablesformed of a couple of long boards, flanked by two forms, and shaded fromthe sun by narrow linen awnings. Broth and coffee were sold at theseplaces at a penny a cup. The little loaves heaped up in high baskets alsocost a penny apiece. Hanging from the poles which upheld the awnings weresausages, chitterlings, and hams. Some of the open-air _restaurateurs_were frying potatoes, and others were concocting more or less savourymesses of inferior meat and onions. A pungent smoke, a violent odour, arose into the sunlight, mingling with the dust which was raised by thecontinuous tramp of the promenaders. Rows of people, moreover, werewaiting at each cantine, so that each time a party rose from table freshcustomers took possession of the benches ranged beside theoilcloth-covered planks, which were so narrow that there was scarcelyroom for two bowls of soup to be placed side by side. And one and allmade haste, and devoured with the ravenous hunger born of their fatigue, that insatiable appetite which so often follows upon great moral shocks. In fact, when the mind had exhausted itself in prayer, when everythingphysical had been forgotten amidst the mental flight into the legendaryheavens, the human animal suddenly appeared, again asserted itself, andbegan to gorge. Moreover, under that dazzling Sunday sky, the scene waslike that of a fair-field with all the gluttony of a merrymakingcommunity, a display of the delight which they felt in living, despitethe multiplicity of their abominable ailments and the dearth of themiracles they hoped for. 

"They eat, they amuse themselves; what else can one expect?" remarkedGerard, guessing the thoughts of his amiable companions. 

"Ah! poor people!" murmured Pierre, "they have a perfect right to do so. "

He was greatly touched to see human nature reassert itself in thisfashion. However, when they had got to the lower part of the boulevardnear the Grotto, his feelings were hurt at sight of the desperateeagerness displayed by the female vendors of tapers and bouquets, whowith the rough fierceness of conquerors assailed the passers-by in bands. They were mostly young women, with bare heads, or with kerchiefs tiedover their hair, and they displayed extraordinary effrontery. Even theold ones were scarcely more discreet. With parcels of tapers under theirarms, they brandished the one which they offered for sale and even thrustit into the hand of the promenader. "Monsieur, " "madame, " they called, "buy a taper, buy a taper, it will bring you luck!" One gentleman, whowas surrounded and shaken by three of the youngest of these harpies, almost lost the skirts of his frock-coat in attempting to escape theirclutches. Then the scene began afresh with the bouquets--large roundbouquets they were, carelessly fastened together and looking likecabbages. "A bouquet, madame!" was the cry. "A bouquet for the BlessedVirgin!" If the lady escaped, she heard muttered insults behind her. Trafficking, impudent trafficking, pursued the pilgrims to the veryoutskirts of the Grotto. Trade was not merely triumphantly installed inevery one of the shops, standing close together and transforming eachstreet into a bazaar, but it overran the footways and barred the roadwith hand-carts full of chaplets, medals, statuettes, and religiousprints. On all sides people were buying almost to the same extent as theyate, in order that they might take away with them some souvenir of thisholy Kermesse. And the bright gay note of this commercial eagerness, thisscramble of hawkers, was supplied by the urchins who rushed about throughthe crowd, crying the "Journal de la Grotte. " Their sharp, shrill voicespierced the ear: "The 'Journal de la Grotte, ' this morning's number, twosous, the 'Journal de la Grotte. '"

Amidst the continual pushing which accompanied the eddying of theever-moving crowd, Gerard's little party became separated. He andRaymonde remained behind the others. They had begun talking together inlow tones, with an air of smiling intimacy, lost and isolated as theywere in the dense crowd. And Madame Desagneaux at last had to stop, lookback, and call to them: "Come on, or we shall lose one another!"

As they drew near, Pierre heard the girl exclaim: "Mamma is so very busy;speak to her before we leave. " And Gerard thereupon replied: "It isunderstood. You have made me very happy, mademoiselle. "

Thus the husband had been secured, the marriage decided upon, during thischarming promenade among the sights of Lourdes. Raymonde had completedher conquest, and Gerard had at last taken a resolution, realising howgay and sensible she was, as she walked beside him leaning on his arm. 

M. De Guersaint, however, had raised his eyes, and was heard inquiring:"Are not those people up there, on that balcony, the rich folk who madethe journey in the same train as ourselves?--You know whom I mean, thatlady who is so very ill, and whose husband and sister accompany her?"

He was alluding to the Dieulafays; and they indeed were the persons whomhe now saw on the balcony of a suite of rooms which they had rented in anew house overlooking the lawns of the Rosary. They here occupied afirst-floor, furnished with all the luxury that Lourdes could provide, carpets, hangings, mirrors, and many other things, without mentioning astaff of servants despatched beforehand from Paris. As the weather was sofine that afternoon, the large armchair on which lay the poor ailingwoman had been rolled on to the balcony. You could see her there, clad ina lace _peignoir_. Her husband, always correctly attired in a blackfrock-coat, stood beside her on her right hand, whilst her sister, in adelightful pale mauve gown, sat on her left smiling and leaning overevery now and then so as to speak to her, but apparently receiving noreply. 

"Oh!" declared little Madame Desagneaux, "I have often heard people speakof Madame Jousseur, that lady in mauve. She is the wife of a diplomatistwho neglects her, it seems, in spite of her great beauty; and last yearthere was a deal of talk about her fancy for a young colonel who is wellknown in Parisian society. It is said, however, in Catholic _salons_ thather religious principles enabled her to conquer it. "

They all five remained there, looking up at the balcony. "To think, "resumed Madame Desagneaux, "that her sister, poor woman, was once herliving portrait. " And, indeed, there was an expression of greaterkindliness and more gentle gaiety on Madame Dieulafay's face. And now yousee her--no different from a dead woman except that she is above insteadof under ground--with her flesh wasted away, reduced to a livid, bonelessthing which they scarcely dare to move. Ah! the unhappy woman!

Raymonde thereupon assured the others that Madame Dieulafay, who had beenmarried scarcely two years previously, had brought all the jewellerygiven her on the occasion of her wedding to offer it as a gift to OurLady of Lourdes; and Gerard confirmed this assertion, saying that thejewellery had been handed over to the treasurer of the Basilica that verymorning with a golden lantern studded with gems and a large sum of moneydestined for the relief of the poor. However, the Blessed Virgin couldnot have been touched as yet, for the sufferer's condition seemed, ifanything, to be worse. 

From that moment Pierre no longer beheld aught save that young woman onthat handsome balcony, that woeful, wealthy creature lying there highabove the merrymaking throng, the Lourdes mob which was feasting andlaughing in the Sunday sunshine. The two dear ones who were so tenderlywatching over her--her sister who had forsaken her society triumphs, herhusband who had forgotten his financial business, his millions dispersedthroughout the world--increased, by their irreproachable demeanour, thewoefulness of the group which they thus formed high above all otherheads, and face to face with the lovely valley. For Pierre they aloneremained; and they were exceedingly wealthy and exceedingly wretched. 

However, lingering in this wise on the footway with their eyes upturned, the five promenaders narrowly escaped being knocked down and run over, for at every moment fresh vehicles were coming up, for the most partlandaus drawn by four horses, which were driven at a fast trot, and whosebells jingled merrily. The occupants of these carriages were tourists, visitors to the waters of Pau, Bareges, and Cauterets, whom curiosity hadattracted to Lourdes, and who were delighted with the fine weather andquite inspirited by their rapid drive across the mountains. They wouldremain at Lourdes only a few hours; after hastening to the Grotto and theBasilica in seaside costumes, they would start off again, laughing, andwell pleased at having seen it all. In this wise families in lightattire, bands of young women with bright parasols, darted hither andthither among the grey, neutral-tinted crowd of pilgrims, imparting toit, in a yet more pronounced manner, the aspect of a fair-day mob, amidstwhich folks of good society deign to come and amuse themselves. 

All at once Madame Desagneaux raised a cry "What, is it you, Berthe?" Andthereupon she embraced a tall, charming brunette who had just alightedfrom a landau with three other young women, the whole party smiling andanimated. Everyone began talking at once, and all sorts of merryexclamations rang out, in the delight they felt at meeting in thisfashion. "Oh! we are at Cauterets, my dear, " said the tall brunette. "Andas everybody comes here, we decided to come all four together. And yourhusband, is he here with you?"

Madame Desagneaux began protesting: "Of course not, " said she. "He is atTrouville, as you ought to know. I shall start to join him on Thursday. "

"Yes, yes, of course, " resumed the tall brunette, who, like her friend, seemed to be an amiable, giddy creature, "I was forgetting; you are herewith the pilgrimage. "

Then Madame Desagneaux offered to guide her friends, promising to showthem everything of interest in less than a couple of hours; and turningto Raymonde, who stood by, smiling, she added "Come with us, my dear;your mother won't be anxious. "

The ladies and Pierre and M. De Guersaint thereupon exchanged bows: andGerard also took leave, tenderly pressing Raymonde's hand, with his eyesfixed on hers, as though to pledge himself definitively. The womenswiftly departed, directing their steps towards the Grotto, and whenGerard also had gone off, returning to his duties, M. De Guersaint saidto Pierre: "And the hairdresser on the Place du Marcadal, I really mustgo and see him. You will come with me, won't you?"

"Of course I will go wherever you like. I am quite at your disposal asMarie does not need us. "

Following the pathways between the large lawns which stretch out in frontof the Rosary, they reached the new bridge, where they had anotherencounter, this time with Abbe des Hermoises, who was acting as guide totwo young married ladies who had arrived that morning from Tarbes. Walking between them with the gallant air of a society priest, he wasshowing them Lourdes and explaining it to them, keeping them well away, however, from its more repugnant features, its poor and its ailing folk, its odour of low misery, which, it must be admitted, had well-nighdisappeared that fine, sunshiny day. At the first word which M. DeGuersaint addressed to him with respect to the hiring of a vehicle forthe trip to Gavarnie, the Abbe was seized with a dread lest he should beobliged to leave his pretty lady-visitors: "As you please, my dear sir, "he replied. "Kindly attend to the matter, and--you are quite right, makethe cheapest arrangements possible, for I shall have two ecclesiastics ofsmall means with me. There will be four of us. Let me know at the hotelthis evening at what hour we shall start. "

Thereupon he again joined his lady-friends, and led them towards theGrotto, following the shady path which skirts the Gave, a cool, sequestered path well suited for lovers' walks. 

Feeling somewhat tired, Pierre had remained apart from the others, leaning against the parapet of the new bridge. And now for the first timehe was struck by the prodigious number of priests among the crowd. He sawall varieties of them swarming across the bridge: priests of correct mienwho had come with the pilgrimage and who could be recognised by their airof assurance and their clean cassocks; poor village priests who were farmore timid and badly clothed, and who, after making sacrifices in orderthat they might indulge in the journey, would return home quite scaredand, finally, there was the whole crowd of unattached ecclesiastics whohad come nobody knew whence, and who enjoyed such absolute liberty thatit was difficult to be sure whether they had even said their mass thatmorning. They doubtless found this liberty very agreeable; and thus thegreater number of them, like Abbe des Hermoises, had simply come on aholiday excursion, free from all duties, and happy at being able to livelike ordinary men, lost, unnoticed as they were in the multitude aroundthem. And from the young, carefully groomed and perfumed priest, to theold one in a dirty cassock and shoes down at heel, the entire species hadits representative in the throng--there were corpulent ones, others butmoderately fat, thin ones, tall ones and short ones, some whom faith hadbrought and whom ardour was consuming, some also who simply plied theircalling like worthy men, and some, moreover, who were fond of intriguing, and who were only present in order that they might help the good cause. However, Pierre was quite surprised to see such a stream of priests passbefore him, each with his special passion, and one and all hurrying tothe Grotto as one hurries to a duty, a belief, a pleasure, or a task. Henoticed one among the number, a very short, slim, dark man with apronounced Italian accent, whose glittering eyes seemed to be taking aplan of Lourdes, who looked, indeed, like one of those spies who come andpeer around with a view to conquest; and then he observed another one, anenormous fellow with a paternal air, who was breathing hard throughinordinate eating, and who paused in front of a poor sick woman, andended by slipping a five-franc piece into her hand. 

Just then, however, M. De Guersaint returned: "We merely have to go downthe boulevard and the Rue Basse, " said he. 

Pierre followed him without answering. He had just felt his cassock onhis shoulders for the first time that afternoon, for never had it seemedso light to him as whilst he was walking about amidst the scramble of thepilgrimage. The young fellow was now living in a state of mingledunconsciousness and dizziness, ever hoping that faith would fall upon himlike a lightning flash, in spite of all the vague uneasiness which wasgrowing within him at sight of the things which he beheld. However, thespectacle of that ever-swelling stream of priests no longer wounded hisheart; fraternal feelings towards these unknown colleagues had returnedto him; how many of them there must be who believed no more than he didhimself, and yet, like himself, honestly fulfilled their mission asguides and consolers!

"This boulevard is a new one, you know, " said M. De Guersaint, all atonce raising his voice. "The number of houses built during the lasttwenty years is almost beyond belief. There is quite a new town here. "

The Lapaca flowed along behind the buildings on their right and, theircuriosity inducing them to turn into a narrow lane, they came upon somestrange old structures on the margin of the narrow stream. Severalancient mills here displayed their wheels; among them one whichMonseigneur Laurence had given to Bernadette's parents after theapparitions. Tourists, moreover, were here shown the pretended abode ofBernadette, a hovel whither the Soubirous family had removed on leavingthe Rue des Petits Fosses, and in which the young girl, as she wasalready boarding with the Sisters of Nevers, can have but seldom slept. At last, by way of the Rue Basse, Pierre and his companion reached thePlace du Marcadal. 

This was a long, triangular, open space, the most animated and luxuriousof the squares of the old town, the one where the cafes, the chemists, all the finest shops were situated. And, among the latter, one showedconspicuously, coloured as it was a lively green, adorned with loftymirrors, and surmounted by a broad board bearing in gilt letters theinscription: "Cazaban, Hairdresser". 

M. De Guersaint and Pierre went in, but there was nobody in the salon andthey had to wait. A terrible clatter of forks resounded from theadjoining room, an ordinary dining-room transformed into a _tabled'hote_, in which some twenty people were having _dejeuner_ although itwas already two o'clock. The afternoon was progressing, and yet peoplewere still eating from one to the other end of Lourdes. Like every otherhouseholder in the town, whatever his religious convictions might be, Cazaban, in the pilgrimage season, let his bedrooms, surrendered hisdining-room, end sought refuge in his cellar, where, heaped up with hisfamily, he ate and slept, although this unventilated hole was no morethan three yards square. However, the passion for trading and moneymakingcarried all before it; at pilgrimage time the whole populationdisappeared like that of a conquered city, surrendering even the beds ofits women and its children to the pilgrims, seating them at its tables, and supplying them with food. 

"Is there nobody here?" called M. De Guersaint after waiting a moment. 

At last a little man made his appearance, Cazaban himself, a type of theknotty but active Pyrenean, with a long face, prominent cheek-bones, anda sunburned complexion spotted here and there with red. His big, glittering eyes never remained still; and the whole of his spare littlefigure quivered with incessant exuberance of speech and gesture. 

"For you, monsieur--a shave, eh?" said he. "I must beg your pardon forkeeping you waiting; but my assistant has gone out, and I was in therewith my boarders. If you will kindly sit down, I will attend to you atonce. "

Thereupon, deigning to operate in person, Cazaban began to stir up thelather and strop the razor. He had glanced rather nervously, however, atthe cassock worn by Pierre, who without a word had seated himself in acorner and taken up a newspaper in the perusal of which he appeared to beabsorbed. 

A short interval of silence followed; but it was fraught with sufferingfor Cazaban, and whilst lathering his customer's chin he began tochatter: "My boarders lingered this morning such a long time at theGrotto, monsieur, that they have scarcely sat down to _dejeuner_. You canhear them, eh? I was staying with them out of politeness. However, I owemyself to my customers as well, do I not? One must try to pleaseeverybody. "

M. De Guersaint, who also was fond of a chat, thereupon began to questionhim: "You lodge some of the pilgrims, I suppose?"

"Oh! we all lodge some of them, monsieur; it is necessary for the town, "replied the barber. 

"And you accompany them to the Grotto?"

At this, however, Cazaban revolted, and, holding up his razor, heanswered with an air of dignity "Never, monsieur, never! For five yearspast I have not been in that new town which they are building. "

He was still seeking to restrain himself, and again glanced at Pierre, whose face was hidden by the newspaper. The sight of the red cross pinnedon M. De Guersaint's jacket was also calculated to render him prudent;nevertheless his tongue won the victory. "Well, monsieur, opinions arefree, are they not?" said he. "I respect yours, but for my part I don'tbelieve in all that phantasmagoria! Oh I've never concealed it! I wasalready a republican and a freethinker in the days of the Empire. Therewere barely four men of those views in the whole town at that time. Oh!I'm proud of it. "

He had begun to shave M. De Guersaint's left cheek and was quitetriumphant. From that moment a stream of words poured forth from hismouth, a stream which seemed to be inexhaustible. To begin with, hebrought the same charges as Majeste against the Fathers of the Grotto. Hereproached them for their dealings in tapers, chaplets, prints, andcrucifixes, for the disloyal manner in which they competed with those whosold those articles as well as with the hotel and lodging-house keepers. And he was also wrathful with the Blue Sisters of the ImmaculateConception, for had they not robbed him of two tenants, two old ladies, who spent three weeks at Lourdes each year? Moreover you could divinewithin him all the slowly accumulated, overflowing spite with which theold town regarded the new town--that town which had sprung up so quicklyon the other side of the castle, that rich city with houses as big aspalaces, whither flowed all the life, all the luxury, all the money ofLourdes, so that it was incessantly growing larger and wealthier, whilstits elder sister, the poor, antique town of the mountains, with itsnarrow, grass-grown, deserted streets, seemed near the point of death. Nevertheless the struggle still continued; the old town seemed determinednot to die, and, by lodging pilgrims and opening shops on her side, endeavoured to compel her ungrateful junior to grant her a share of thespoils. But custom only flowed to the shops which were near the Grotto, and only the poorer pilgrims were willing to lodge so far away; so thatthe unequal conditions of the struggle intensified the rupture and turnedthe high town and the low town into two irreconcilable enemies, whopreyed upon one another amidst continual intrigues. 

"Ah, no! They certainly won't see me at their Grotto, " resumed Cazaban, with his rageful air. "What an abusive use they make of that Grotto oftheirs! They serve it up in every fashion! To think of such idolatry, such gross superstition in the nineteenth century! Just ask them if theyhave cured a single sufferer belonging to the town during the last twentyyears! Yet there are plenty of infirm people crawling about our streets. It was our folk that benefited by the first miracles; but it would seemthat the miraculous water has long lost all its power, so far as we areconcerned. We are too near it; people have to come from a long distanceif they want it to act on them. It's really all too stupid; why, Iwouldn't go there even if I were offered a hundred francs!"

Pierre's immobility was doubtless irritating the barber. He had now begunto shave M. De Guersaint's right cheek; and was inveighing against theFathers of the Immaculate Conception, whose greed for gain was the onecause of all the misunderstanding. These Fathers who were at home there, since they had purchased from the Municipality the land on which theydesired to build, did not even carry out the stipulations of the contractthey had signed, for there were two clauses in it forbidding all trading, such as the sale of the water and of religious articles. Innumerableactions might have been brought against them. But they snapped theirfingers, and felt themselves so powerful that they no longer allowed asingle offering to go to the parish, but arranged matters so that thewhole harvest of money should be garnered by the Grotto and the Basilica. 

And, all at once, Cazaban candidly exclaimed: "If they were onlyreasonable, if they would only share with us!" Then, when M. De Guersainthad washed his face, and reseated himself, the hairdresser resumed: "Andif I were to tell you, monsieur, what they have done with our poor town!Forty years ago all the young girls here conducted themselves properly, Iassure you. I remember that in my young days when a young man was wickedhe generally had to go elsewhere. But times have changed, our manners areno longer the same. Nowadays nearly all the girls content themselves withselling candles and nosegays; and you must have seen them catching holdof the passers-by and thrusting their goods into their hands! It isreally shameful to see so many bold girls about! They make a lot ofmoney, acquire lazy habits, and, instead of working during the winter, simply wait for the return of the pilgrimage season. And I assure youthat the young men don't need to go elsewhere nowadays. No, indeed! Andadd to all this the suspicious floating element which swells thepopulation as soon as the first fine weather sets in--the coachmen, thehawkers, the cantine keepers, all the low-class, wandering folk reekingwith grossness and vice--and you can form an idea of the honest new townwhich they have given us with the crowds that come to their Grotto andtheir Basilica!"

Greatly struck by these remarks, Pierre had let his newspaper fall andbegun to listen. It was now, for the first time, that he fully realisedthe difference between the two Lourdes--old Lourdes so honest and sopious in its tranquil solitude, and new Lourdes corrupted, demoralised bythe circulation of so much money, by such a great enforced increase ofwealth, by the ever-growing torrent of strangers sweeping through it, bythe fatal rotting influence of the conflux of thousands of people, thecontagion of evil examples. And what a terrible result it seemed when onethought of Bernadette, the pure, candid girl kneeling before the wildprimitive grotto, when one thought of all the naive faith, all thefervent purity of those who had first begun the work! Had they desiredthat the whole countryside should be poisoned in this wise by lucre andhuman filth? Yet it had sufficed that the nations should flock there fora pestilence to break out. 

Seeing that Pierre was listening, Cazaban made a final threateninggesture as though to sweep away all this poisonous superstition. Then, relapsing into silence, he finished cutting M. De Guersaint's hair. 

"There you are, monsieur!"

The architect rose, and it was only now that he began to speak of theconveyance which he wished to hire. At first the hairdresser declined toenter into the matter, pretending that they must apply to his brother atthe Champ Commun; but at last he consented to take the order. Apair-horse landau for Gavarnie was priced at fifty francs. However, hewas so pleased at having talked so much, and so flattered at hearinghimself called an honest man, that he eventually agreed to charge onlyforty francs. There were four persons in the party, so this would maketen francs apiece. And it was agreed that they should start off at abouttwo in the morning, so that they might get back to Lourdes at a tolerablyearly hour on the Monday evening. 

"The landau will be outside the Hotel of the Apparitions at the appointedtime, " repeated Cazaban in his emphatic way. "You may rely on me, monsieur. "

Then he began to listen. The clatter of crockery did not cease in theadjoining room. People were still eating there with that impulsivevoracity which had spread from one to the other end of Lourdes. And allat once a voice was heard calling for more bread. 

"Excuse me, " hastily resumed Cazaban, "my boarders want me. " Andthereupon he rushed away, his hands still greasy through fingering thecomb. 

The door remained open for a second, and on the walls of the dining-roomPierre espied various religious prints, and notably a view of the Grotto, which surprised him; in all probability, however, the hairdresser onlyhung these engravings there during the pilgrimage season by way ofpleasing his boarders. 

It was now nearly three o'clock. When the young priest and M. DeGuersaint got outside they were astonished at the loud pealing of bellswhich was flying through the air. The parish church had responded to thefirst stroke of vespers chiming at the Basilica; and now all theconvents, one after another, were contributing to the swelling peals. Thecrystalline notes of the bell of the Carmelites mingled with the gravenotes of the bell of the Immaculate Conception; and all the joyous bellsof the Sisters of Nevers and the Dominicans were jingling together. Inthis wise, from morning till evening on fine days of festivity, thechimes winged their flight above the house-roofs of Lourdes. And nothingcould have been gayer than that sonorous melody resounding in the broadblue heavens above the gluttonous town, which had at last lunched, andwas now comfortably digesting as it strolled about in the sunlight. 

III. THE NIGHT PROCESSION

AS soon as night had fallen Marie, still lying on her bed at the Hospitalof Our Lady of Dolours, became extremely impatient, for she had learntfrom Madame de Jonquiere that Baron Suire had obtained from FatherFourcade the necessary permission for her to spend the night in front ofthe Grotto. Thus she kept on questioning Sister Hyacinthe, asking her:"Pray, Sister, is it not yet nine o'clock?"

"No, my child, it is scarcely half-past eight, " was the reply. "Here is anice woollen shawl for you to wrap round you at daybreak, for the Gave isclose by, and the mornings are very fresh, you know, in these mountainousparts. "

"Oh! but the nights are so lovely, Sister, and besides, I sleep so littlehere!" replied Marie; "I cannot be worse off out-of-doors. _Mon Dieu_, how happy I am; how delightful it will be to spend the whole night withthe Blessed Virgin!"

The entire ward was jealous of her; for to remain in prayer before theGrotto all night long was the most ineffable of joys, the supremebeatitude. It was said that in the deep peacefulness of night the chosenones undoubtedly beheld the Virgin, but powerful protection was needed toobtain such a favour as had been granted to Marie; for nowadays thereverend Fathers scarcely liked to grant it, as several sufferers haddied during the long vigil, falling asleep, as it were, in the midst oftheir ecstasy. 

"You will take the Sacrament at the Grotto tomorrow morning, before youare brought back here, won't you, my child?" resumed Sister Hyacinthe. 

However, nine o'clock at last struck, and, Pierre not arriving, the girlwondered whether he, usually so punctual, could have forgotten her? Theothers were now talking to her of the night procession, which she wouldsee from beginning to end if she only started at once. The ceremoniesconcluded with a procession every night, but the Sunday one was alwaysthe finest, and that evening, it was said, would be remarkably splendid, such, indeed, as was seldom seen. Nearly thirty thousand pilgrims wouldtake part in it, each carrying a lighted taper: the nocturnal marvels ofthe sky would be revealed; the stars would descend upon earth. At thisthought the sufferers began to bewail their fate; what a wretched lot wastheirs, to be tied to their beds, unable to see any of those wonders. 

At last Madame de Jonquiere approached Marie's bed. "My dear girl, " saidshe, "here is your father with Monsieur l'Abbe. "

Radiant with delight, the girl at once forgot her weary waiting. "Oh!pray let us make haste, Pierre, " she exclaimed; "pray let us make haste!"

They carried her down the stairs, and the young priest harnessed himselfto the little car, which gently rolled along, under the star-studdedheavens, whilst M. De Guersaint walked beside it. The night was moonless, but extremely beautiful; the vault above looked like deep blue velvet, spangled with diamonds, and the atmosphere was exquisitely mild and pure, fragrant with the perfumes from the mountains. Many pilgrims werehurrying along the street, all bending their steps towards the Grotto, but they formed a discreet, pensive crowd, with naught of the fair-field, lounging character of the daytime throng. And, as soon as the Plateau dela Merlasse was reached, the darkness spread out, you entered into agreat lake of shadows formed by the stretching lawns and lofty trees, andsaw nothing rising on high save the black, tapering spire of theBasilica. 

Pierre grew rather anxious on finding that the crowd became more and morecompact as he advanced. Already on reaching the Place du Rosaire it wasdifficult to take another forward step. "There is no hope of getting tothe Grotto yet awhile, " he said. "The best course would be to turn intoone of the pathways behind the pilgrims' shelter-house and wait there. "

Marie, however, greatly desired to see the procession start. "Oh! praytry to go as far as the Gave, " said she. "I shall then see everythingfrom a distance; I don't want to go near. "

M. De Guersaint, who was equally inquisitive, seconded this proposal. "Don't be uneasy, " he said to Pierre. "I am here behind, and will takecare to let nobody jostle her. "

Pierre had to begin pulling the little vehicle again. It took him aquarter of an hour to pass under one of the arches of the inclined way onthe left hand, so great was the crush of pilgrims at that point. Then, taking a somewhat oblique course, he ended by reaching the quay besidethe Gave, where there were only some spectators standing on the sidewalk, so that he was able to advance another fifty yards. At last he halted, and backed the little car against the quay parapet, in full view of theGrotto. "Will you be all right here?" he asked. 

"Oh yes, thank you. Only you must sit me up; I shall then be able to seemuch better. "

M. De Guersaint raised her into a sitting posture, and then for his partclimbed upon the stonework running from one to the other end of the quay. A mob of inquisitive people had already scaled it in part, likesight-seers waiting for a display of fireworks; and they were all raisingthemselves on tiptoe, and craning their necks to get a better view. Pierre himself at last grew interested, although there was, so far, little to see. 

Some thirty thousand people were assembled, and, every moment there werefresh arrivals. All carried candles, the lower parts of which werewrapped in white paper, on which a picture of Our Lady of Lourdes wasprinted in blue ink. However, these candles were not yet lighted, and theonly illumination that you perceived above the billowy sea of heads wasthe bright, forge-like glow of the taper-lighted Grotto. A great buzzingarose, whiffs of human breath blew hither and thither, and these aloneenabled you to realise that thousands of serried, stifling creatures weregathered together in the black depths, like a living sea that was evereddying and spreading. There were even people hidden away under the treesbeyond the Grotto, in distant recesses of the darkness of which one hadno suspicion. 

At last a few tapers began to shine forth here and there, like suddensparks of light spangling the obscurity at random. Their number rapidlyincreased, eyots of stars were formed, whilst at other points there weremeteoric trails, milky ways, so to say, flowing midst the constellations. The thirty thousand tapers were being lighted one by one, their beamsgradually increasing in number till they obscured the bright glow of theGrotto and spread, from one to the other end of the promenade, the smallyellow flames of a gigantic brasier. 

"Oh! how beautiful it is, Pierre!" murmured Marie; "it is like theresurrection of the humble, the bright awakening of the souls of thepoor. "

"It is superb, superb!" repeated M. De Guersaint, with impassionedartistic satisfaction. "Do you see those two trails of light yonder, which intersect one another and form a cross?"

Pierre's feelings, however, had been touched by what Marie had just said. He was reflecting upon her words. There was truth in them. Taken singly, those slender flames, those mere specks of light, were modest andunobtrusive, like the lowly; it was only their great number that suppliedthe effulgence, the sun-like resplendency. Fresh ones were continuallyappearing, farther and farther away, like waifs and strays. "Ah!"murmured the young priest, "do you see that one which has just begun toflicker, all by itself, far away--do you see it, Marie? Do you see how itfloats and slowly approaches until it is merged in the great lake oflight?"

In the vicinity of the Grotto one could see now as clearly as in thedaytime. The trees, illumined from below, were intensely green, like thepainted trees in stage scenery. Above the moving brasier were somemotionless banners, whose embroidered saints and silken cords showed withvivid distinctness. And the great reflection ascended to the rock, evento the Basilica, whose spire now shone out, quite white, against theblack sky; whilst the hillsides across the Gave were likewise brightened, and displayed the pale fronts of their convents amidst their sombrefoliage. 

There came yet another moment of uncertainty. The flaming lake, in whicheach burning wick was like a little wave, rolled its starry sparkling asthough it were about to burst from its bed and flow away in a river. Thenthe banners began to oscillate, and soon a regular motion set in. 

"Oh! so they won't pass this way!" exclaimed M. De Guersaint in a tone ofdisappointment. 

Pierre, who had informed himself on the matter, thereupon explained thatthe procession would first of all ascend the serpentine road--constructedat great cost up the hillside--and that it would afterwards pass behindthe Basilica, descend by the inclined way on the right hand, and thenspread out through the gardens. 

"Look!" said he; "you can see the foremost tapers ascending amidst thegreenery. "

Then came an enchanting spectacle. Little flickering lights detachedthemselves from the great bed of fire, and began gently rising, withoutit being possible for one to tell at that distance what connected themwith the earth. They moved upward, looking in the darkness like goldenparticles of the sun. And soon they formed an oblique streak, a streakwhich suddenly twisted, then extended again until it curved once more. Atlast the whole hillside was streaked by a flaming zigzag, resemblingthose lightning flashes which you see falling from black skies in cheapengravings. But, unlike the lightning, the luminous trail did not fadeaway; the little lights still went onward in the same slow, gentle, gliding manner. Only for a moment, at rare intervals, was there a suddeneclipse; the procession, no doubt, was then passing behind some clump oftrees. But, farther on, the tapers beamed forth afresh, rising heavenwardby an intricate path, which incessantly diverged and then started upwardagain. At last, however, the time came when the lights no longerascended, for they had reached the summit of the hill and had begun todisappear at the last turn of the road. 

Exclamations were rising from the crowd. "They are passing behind theBasilica, " said one. "Oh! it will take them twenty minutes before theybegin coming down on the other side, " remarked another. "Yes, madame, "said a third, "there are thirty thousand of them, and an hour will go bybefore the last of them leaves the Grotto. "

Ever since the start a sound of chanting had risen above the low rumblingof the crowd. The hymn of Bernadette was being sung, those sixty coupletsbetween which the Angelic Salutation, with its all-besetting rhythm, wasever returning as a refrain. When the sixty couplets were finished theywere sung again; and that lullaby of "Ave, ave, ave Maria!" came backincessantly, stupefying the mind, and gradually transporting thosethousands of beings into a kind of wide-awake dream, with a vision ofParadise before their eyes. And, indeed, at night-time when they wereasleep, their beds would rock to the eternal tune, which they still andever continued singing. 

"Are we going to stop here?" asked M. De Guersaint, who speedily gottired of remaining in any one spot. "We see nothing but the same thingover and over again. "

Marie, who had informed herself by listening to what was said in thecrowd, thereupon exclaimed: "You were quite right, Pierre; it would bemuch better to go back yonder under the trees. I so much wish to seeeverything. "

"Yes, certainly; we will seek a spot whence you may see it all, " repliedthe priest. "The only difficulty lies in getting away from here. "

Indeed, they were now inclosed within the mob of sight-seers; and, inorder to secure a passage, Pierre with stubborn perseverance had to keepon begging a little room for a suffering girl. 

M. De Guersaint meantime brought up the rear, screening the littleconveyance so that it might not be upset by the jostling; whilst Marieturned her head, still endeavouring to see the sheet of flame spread outbefore the Grotto, that lake of little sparkling waves which never seemedto diminish, although the procession continued to flow from it without apause. 

At last they all three found themselves out of the crowd, near one of thearches, on a deserted spot where they were able to breathe for a moment. They now heard nothing but the distant canticle with its besettingrefrain, and they only saw the reflection of the tapers, hovering like aluminous cloud in the neighbourhood of the Basilica. 

"The best plan would be to climb to the Calvary, " said M. De Guersaint. "The servant at the hotel told me so this morning. From up there, itseems, the scene is fairy-like. "

But they could not think of making the ascent. Pierre at once enumeratedthe difficulties. "How could we hoist ourselves to such a height withMarie's conveyance?" he asked. "Besides, we should have to come downagain, and that would be dangerous work in the darkness amidst all thescrambling. "

Marie herself preferred to remain under the trees in the gardens, whereit was very mild. So they started off, and reached the esplanade in frontof the great crowned statue of the Virgin. It was illuminated by means ofblue and yellow globes which encompassed it with a gaudy splendour; anddespite all his piety M. De Guersaint could not help finding thesedecorations in execrable taste. 

"There!" exclaimed Marie, "a good place would be near those shrubsyonder. "

She was pointing to a shrubbery near the pilgrims' shelter-house; and thespot was indeed an excellent one for their purpose, as it enabled them tosee the procession come down by the gradient way on the left, and watchit as it passed between the lawns to the new bridge and back again. Moreover, a delightful freshness prevailed there by reason of thevicinity of the Gave. There was nobody there as yet, and one could enjoydeep peacefulness in the dense shade which fell from the big plane-treesbordering the path. 

In his impatience to see the first tapers reappear as soon as they shouldhave passed behind the Basilica, M. De Guersaint had risen on tiptoe. "Isee nothing as yet, " he muttered, "so whatever the regulations may be Ishall sit on the grass for a moment. I've no strength left in my legs. "Then, growing anxious about his daughter, he inquired: "Shall I cover youup? It is very cool here. "

"Oh, no! I'm not cold, father!" answered Marie; "I feel so happy. It islong since I breathed such sweet air. There must be some rosesabout--can't you smell that delicious perfume?" And turning to Pierre sheasked: "Where are the roses, my friend? Can you see them?"

When M. De Guersaint had seated himself on the grass near the littlevehicle, it occurred to Pierre to see if there was not some bed of rosesnear at hand. But is was in vain that he explored the dark lawns; hecould only distinguish sundry clumps of evergreens. And, as he passed infront of the pilgrims' shelter-house on his way back, curiosity promptedhim to enter it. 

This building formed a long and lofty hall, lighted by large windows upontwo sides. With bare walls and a stone pavement, it contained no otherfurniture than a number of benches, which stood here and there inhaphazard fashion. There was neither table nor shelf, so that thehomeless pilgrims who had sought refuge there had piled up their baskets, parcels, and valises in the window embrasures. Moreover, the place wasapparently empty; the poor folk that it sheltered had no doubt joined theprocession. Nevertheless, although the door stood wide open, an almostunbearable smell reigned inside. The very walls seemed impregnated withan odour of poverty, and in spite of the bright sunshine which hadprevailed during the day, the flagstones were quite damp, soiled andsoaked with expectorations, spilt wine, and grease. This mess had beenmade by the poorer pilgrims, who with their dirty skins and wretched ragslived in the hall, eating and sleeping in heaps on the benches. Pierrespeedily came to the conclusion that the pleasant smell of roses mustemanate from some other spot; still, he was making the round of the hall, which was lighted by four smoky lanterns, and which he believed to bealtogether unoccupied, when, against the left-hand wall, he was surprisedto espy the vague figure of a woman in black, with what seemed to be awhite parcel lying on her lap. She was all alone in that solitude, anddid not stir; however, her eyes were wide open. 

He drew near and recognised Madame Vincent. She addressed him in a deep, broken voice: "Rose has suffered so dreadfully to-day! Since daybreak shehas not ceased moaning. And so, as she fell asleep a couple of hours ago, I haven't dared to stir for fear lest she should awake and suffer again. "

Thus the poor woman remained motionless, martyr-mother that she was, having for long months held her daughter in her arms in this fashion, inthe stubborn hope of curing her. In her arms, too, she had brought her toLourdes; in her arms she had carried her to the Grotto; in her arms shehad rocked her to sleep, having neither a room of her own, nor even ahospital bed at her disposal. 

"Isn't the poor little thing any better?" asked Pierre, whose heart achedat the sight. 

"No, Monsieur l'Abbe; no, I think not. "

"But you are very badly off here on this bench. You should have made anapplication to the pilgrimage managers instead of remaining like this, inthe street, as it were. Some accommodation would have been found for yourlittle girl, at any rate; that's certain. "

"Oh! what would have been the use of it, Monsieur l'Abbe? She is allright on my lap. And besides, should I have been allowed to stay withher? No, no, I prefer to have her on my knees; it seems to me that itwill end by curing her. " Two big tears rolled down the poor woman'smotionless cheeks, and in her stifled voice she continued: "I am notpenniless. I had thirty sous when I left Paris, and I still have tenleft. All I need is a little bread, and she, poor darling, can no longerdrink any milk even. I have enough to last me till we go back, and if shegets well again, oh! we shall be rich, rich, rich!"

She had leant forward while speaking, and by the flickering light of alantern near by, gazed at Rose, who was breathing faintly, with partedlips. "You see how soundly she is sleeping, " resumed the unhappy mother. "Surely the Blessed Virgin will take pity on her and cure her, won't she, Monsieur l'Abbe? We only have one day left; still, I don't despair; and Ishall again pray all night long without moving from here. She will becured to-morrow; we must live till then. "

Infinite pity was filling the heart of Pierre, who, fearing that he alsomight weep, now went away. "Yes, yes, my poor woman, we must hope, stillhope, " said he, as he left her there among the scattered benches, in thatdeserted, malodorous hall, so motionless in her painful maternal passionas to hold her own breath, fearful lest the heaving of her bosom shouldawaken the poor little sufferer. And in deepest grief, with closed lips, she prayed ardently. 

On Pierre returning to Marie's side, the girl inquired of him: "Well, andthose roses? Are there any near here?"

He did not wish to sadden her by telling her what he had seen, so hesimply answered: "No, I have searched the lawns; there are none. "

"How singular!" she rejoined, in a thoughtful way. "The perfume is bothso sweet and penetrating. You can smell it, can't you? At this moment itis wonderfully strong, as though all the roses of Paradise were floweringaround us in the darkness. "

A low exclamation from her father interrupted her. M. De Guersaint hadrisen to his feet again on seeing some specks of light shine out abovethe gradient ways on the left side of the Basilica. "At last! Here theycome!" said he. 

It was indeed the head of the procession again appearing; and at once thespecks of light began to swarm and extend in long, wavering double files. The darkness submerged everything except these luminous points, whichseemed to be at a great elevation, and to emerge, as it were, from theblack depths of the Unknown. And at the same time the everlastingcanticle was again heard, but so lightly, for the procession was faraway, that it seemed as yet merely like the rustle of a coming storm, stirring the leaves of the trees. 

"Ah! I said so, " muttered M. De Guersaint; "one ought to be at theCalvary to see everything. " With the obstinacy of a child he kept onreturning to his first idea, again and again complaining that they hadchosen "the worst possible place. "

"But why don't you go up to the Calvary, papa?" at last said Marie. "There is still time. Pierre will stay here with me. " And with a mournfullaugh she added: "Go; you know very well that nobody will run away withme. "

He at first refused to act upon the suggestion, but, unable to resist hisdesire, he all at once fell in with it. And he had to hasten his steps, crossing the lawns at a run. "Don't move, " he called; "wait for me underthe trees. I will tell you of all that I may see up there. "

Then Pierre and Marie remained alone in that dim, solitary nook, whencecame such a perfume of roses, albeit no roses could be found. And theydid not speak, but in silence watched the procession, which was nowcoming down from the hill with a gentle, continuous, gliding motion. 

A double file of quivering stars leapt into view on the left-hand side ofthe Basilica, and then followed the monumental, gradient way, whose curveis gradually described. At that distance you were still unable to see thepilgrims themselves, and you beheld simply those well-disciplinedtravelling lights tracing geometrical lines amidst the darkness. Underthe deep blue heavens, even the buildings at first remained vague, forming but blacker patches against the sky. Little by little, however, as the number of candles increased, the principal architecturallines--the tapering spire of the Basilica, the cyclopean arches of thegradient ways, the heavy, squat facade of the Rosary--became moredistinctly visible. And with that ceaseless torrent of bright sparks, flowing slowly downward with the stubborn persistence of a stream whichhas overflowed its banks and can be stopped by nothing, there came as itwere an aurora, a growing, invading mass of light, which would at lastspread its glory over the whole horizon. 

"Look, look, Pierre!" cried Marie, in an access of childish joy. "Thereis no end of them; fresh ones are ever shining out. "

Indeed, the sudden appearances of the little lights continued withmechanical regularity, as though some inexhaustible celestial source werepouring forth all those solar specks. The head of the procession had justreached the gardens, near the crowned statue of the Virgin, so that asyet the double file of flames merely outlined the curves of the Rosaryand the broad inclined way. However, the approach of the multitude wasforetokened by the perturbation of the atmosphere, by the gusts of humanbreath coming from afar; and particularly did the voices swell, thecanticle of Bernadette surging with the clamour of a rising tide, throughwhich, with rhythmical persistence, the refrain of "Ave, ave, ave Maria!"rolled ever in a louder key. 

"Ah, that refrain!" muttered Pierre; "it penetrates one's very skin. Itseems to me as though my whole body were at last singing it. "

Again did Marie give vent to that childish laugh of hers. "It is true, "said she; "it follows me about everywhere. I heard it the other nightwhilst I was asleep. And now it is again taking possession of me, rockingme, wafting me above the ground. " Then she broke off to say: "Here theycome, just across the lawn, in front of us. "

The procession had entered one of the long, straight paths; and then, turning round the lawn by way of the Breton's Cross, it came back by aparallel path. It took more than a quarter of an hour to execute thismovement, during which the double file of tapers resembled two longparallel streams of flame. That which ever excited one's admiration wasthe ceaseless march of this serpent of fire, whose golden coils crept sogently over the black earth, winding, stretching into the far distance, without the immense body ever seeming to end. There must have been somejostling and scrambling every now and then, for some of the luminouslines shook and bent as though they were about to break; but order wassoon re-established, and then the slow, regular, gliding movement set inafresh. There now seemed to be fewer stars in the heavens; it was asthough a milky way had fallen from on high, rolling its glittering dustof worlds, and transferring the revolutions of the planets from theempyrean to earth. A bluish light streamed all around; there was naughtbut heaven left; the buildings and the trees assumed a visionary aspectin the mysterious glow of those thousands of tapers, whose number stilland ever increased. 

A faint sigh of admiration came from Marie. She was at a loss for words, and could only repeat "How beautiful it is! _Mon Dieu_! how beautiful itis! Look, Pierre, is it not beautiful?"

However, since the procession had been going by at so short a distancefrom them it had ceased to be a rhythmic march of stars which no humanhand appeared to guide, for amidst the stream of light they coulddistinguish the figures of the pilgrims carrying the tapers, and at timeseven recognise them as they passed. First they espied La Grivotte, who, exaggerating her cure, and repeating that she had never felt in betterhealth, had insisted upon taking part in the ceremony despite thelateness of the hour; and she still retained her excited demeanour, herdancing gait in that cool night air, which often made her shiver. Thenthe Vignerons appeared; the father at the head of the party, raising histaper on high, and followed by Madame Vigneron and Madame Chaise, whodragged their weary legs; whilst little Gustave, quite worn out, kept ontapping the sanded path with his crutch, his right hand covered meantimewith all the wax that had dripped upon it. Every sufferer who could walkwas there, among others Elise Rouquet, who, with her bare red face, passed by like some apparition from among the damned. Others werelaughing; Sophie Couteau, the little girl who had been miraculouslyhealed the previous year, was quite forgetting herself, playing with hertaper as though it were a switch. Heads followed heads without a pause, heads of women especially, more often with sordid, common features, butat times wearing an exalted expression, which you saw for a second ere itvanished amidst the fantastic illumination. And there was no end to thatterrible march past; fresh pilgrims were ever appearing. Among themPierre and Marie noticed yet another little black shadowy figure, glidingalong in a discreet, humble way; it was Madame Maze, whom they would nothave recognised if she had not for a moment raised her pale face, downwhich the tears were streaming. 

"Look!" exclaimed Pierre; "the first tapers in the procession arereaching the Place du Rosaire, and I am sure that half of the pilgrimsare still in front of the Grotto. "

Marie had raised her eyes. Up yonder, on the left-hand side of theBasilica, she could see other lights incessantly appearing with thatmechanical kind of movement which seemed as though it would never cease. "Ah!" she said, "how many, how many distressed souls there are! For eachof those little flames is a suffering soul seeking deliverance, is itnot?"

Pierre had to lean over in order to hear her, for since the processionhad been streaming by, so near to them, they had been deafened by thesound of the endless canticle, the hymn of Bernadette. The voices of thepilgrims rang out more loudly than ever amidst the increasing vertigo;the couplets became jumbled together--each batch of processionistschanted a different one with the ecstatic voices of beings possessed, whocan no longer hear themselves. There was a huge indistinct clamour, thedistracted clamour of a multitude intoxicated by its ardent faith. Andmeantime the refrain of "Ave, ave, ave Maria!" was ever returning, rising, with its frantic, importunate rhythm, above everything else. 

All at once Pierre and Marie, to their great surprise, saw M. DeGuersaint before them again. "Ah! my children, " he said, "I did not wantto linger too long up there, I cut through the procession twice in orderto get back to you. But what a sight, what a sight it is! It is certainlythe first beautiful thing that I have seen since I have been here!"Thereupon he began to describe the procession as he had beheld it fromthe Calvary height. "Imagine, " said he, "another heaven, a heaven downbelow reflecting that above, a heaven entirely filled by a single immenseconstellation. The swarming stars seem to be lost, to lie in dim farawaydepths; and the trail of fire is in form like a monstrance--yes, a realmonstrance, the base of which is outlined by the inclined ways, the stemby the two parallel paths, and the Host by the round lawn which crownsthem. It is a monstrance of burning gold, shining out in the depths ofthe darkness with a perpetual sparkle of moving stars. Nothing else seemsto exist; it is gigantic, paramount. I really never saw anything soextraordinary before!"

He was waving his arms, beside himself, overflowing with the emotion ofan artist. 

"Father dear, " said Marie, tenderly, "since you have come back you oughtto go to bed. It is nearly eleven o'clock, and you know that you have tostart at two in the morning. " Then, to render him compliant, she added:"I am so pleased that you are going to make that excursion! Only, comeback early to-morrow evening, because you'll see, you'll see--" Shestopped short, not daring to express her conviction that she would becured. 

"You are right; I will go to bed, " replied M. De Guersaint, quite calmed. "Since Pierre will be with you I sha'n't feel anxious. "

"But I don't wish Pierre to pass the night out here. He will join youby-and-by after he has taken me to the Grotto. I sha'n't have any furtherneed of anybody; the first bearer who passes can take me back to thehospital to-morrow morning. "

Pierre had not interrupted her, and now he simply said: "No, no, Marie, Ishall stay. Like you, I shall spend the night at the Grotto. "

She opened her mouth to insist and express her displeasure. But he hadspoken those words so gently, and she had detected in them such adolorous thirst for happiness, that, stirred to the depths of her soul, she stayed her tongue. 

"Well, well, my children, " replied her father, "settle the matter betweenyou. I know that you are both very sensible. And now good-night, anddon't be at all uneasy about me. "

He gave his daughter a long, loving kiss, pressed the young priest'shands, and then went off, disappearing among the serried ranks of theprocession, which he once more had to cross. 

Then they remained alone in their dark, solitary nook under the spreadingtrees, she still sitting up in her box, and he kneeling on the grass, with his elbow resting on one of the wheels. And it was truly sweet tolinger there while the tapers continued marching past, and, after aturning movement, assembled on the Place du Rosaire. What delightedPierre was that nothing of all the daytime junketing remained. It seemedas though a purifying breeze had come down from the mountains, sweepingaway all the odour of strong meats, the greedy Sunday delights, thescorching, pestilential, fair-field dust which, at an earlier hour, hadhovered above the town. Overhead there was now only the vast sky, studdedwith pure stars, and the freshness of the Gave was delicious, whilst thewandering breezes were laden with the perfumes of wild flowers. Themysterious Infinite spread far around in the sovereign peacefulness ofnight, and nothing of materiality remained save those littlecandle-flames which the young priest's companion had compared tosuffering souls seeking deliverance. All was now exquisitely restful, instinct with unlimited hope. Since Pierre had been there all theheart-rending memories of the afternoon, of the voracious appetites, theimpudent simony, and the poisoning of the old town, had gradually lefthim, allowing him to savour the divine refreshment of that beautifulnight, in which his whole being was steeped as in some revivifying water. 

A feeling of infinite sweetness had likewise come over Marie, whomurmured: "Ah! how happy Blanche would be to see all these marvels. "

She was thinking of her sister, who had been left in Paris to all theworries of her hard profession as a teacher forced to run hither andthither giving lessons. And that simple mention of her sister, of whomMarie had not spoken since her arrival at Lourdes, but whose figure nowunexpectedly arose in her mind's eye, sufficed to evoke a vision of allthe past. 

Then, without exchanging a word, Marie and Pierre lived their childhood'sdays afresh, playing together once more in the neighbouring gardensparted by the quickset hedge. But separation came on the day when heentered the seminary and when she kissed him on the cheeks, vowing thatshe would never forget him. Years went by, and they found themselvesforever parted: he a priest, she prostrated by illness, no longer withany hope of ever being a woman. That was their whole story--an ardentaffection of which they had long been ignorant, then absolute severance, as though they were dead, albeit they lived side by side. They againbeheld the sorry lodging whence they had started to come to Lourdes afterso much battling, so much discussion--his doubts and her passionatefaith, which last had conquered. And it seemed to them truly delightfulto find themselves once more quite alone together, in that dark nook onthat lovely night, when there were as many stars upon earth as there werein heaven. 

Marie had hitherto retained the soul of a child, a spotless soul, as herfather said, good and pure among the purest. Stricken low in herthirteenth year, she had grown no older in mind. Although she was nowthree-and-twenty, she was still a child, a child of thirteen, who hadretired within herself, absorbed in the bitter catastrophe which hadannihilated her. You could tell this by the frigidity of her glance, byher absent expression, by the haunted air she ever wore, unable as shewas to bestow a thought on anything but her calamity. And never waswoman's soul more pure and candid, arrested as it had been in itsdevelopment. She had had no other romance in life save that tearfulfarewell to her friend, which for ten long years had sufficed to fill herheart. During the endless days which she had spent on her couch ofwretchedness, she had never gone beyond this dream--that if she had grownup in health, he doubtless would not have become a priest, in order tolive near her. She never read any novels. The pious works which she wasallowed to peruse maintained her in the excitement of a superhuman love. Even the rumours of everyday life died away at the door of the room whereshe lived in seclusion; and, in past years, when she had been taken fromone to the other end of France, from one inland spa to another, she hadpassed through the crowds like a somnambulist who neither sees nor hearsanything, possessed, as she was, by the idea of the calamity that hadbefallen her, the bond which made her a sexless thing. Hence her purityand childishness; hence she was but an adorable daughter of suffering, who, despite the growth of her sorry flesh, harboured nothing in herheart save that distant awakening of passion, the unconscious love of herthirteenth year. 

Her hand sought Pierre's in the darkness, and when she found it, comingto meet her own, she, for a long time, continued pressing it. Ah! howsweet it was! Never before, indeed, had they tasted such pure and perfectjoy in being together, far from the world, amidst the sovereignenchantment of darkness and mystery. Around them nothing subsisted, savethe revolving stars. The lulling hymns were like the very vertigo thatbore them away. And she knew right well that after spending a night ofrapture at the Grotto, she would, on the morrow, be cured. Of this shewas, indeed, absolutely convinced; she would prevail upon the BlessedVirgin to listen to her; she would soften her, as soon as she should bealone, imploring her face to face. And she well understood what Pierrehad wished to say a short time previously, when expressing his desire tospend the whole night outside the Grotto, like herself. Was it not thathe intended to make a supreme effort to believe, that he meant to fallupon his knees like a little child, and beg the all-powerful Mother torestore his lost faith? Without need of any further exchange of words, their clasped hands repeated all those things. They mutually promisedthat they would pray for each other, and so absorbed in each other didthey become that they forgot themselves, with such an ardent desire forone another's cure and happiness, that for a moment they attained to thedepths of the love which offers itself in sacrifice. It was divineenjoyment. 

"Ah!" murmured Pierre, "how beautiful is this blue night, this infinitedarkness, which has swept away all the hideousness of things and beings, this deep, fresh peacefulness, in which I myself should like to bury mydoubts!"

His voice died away, and Marie, in her turn, said in a very low voice:"And the roses, the perfume of the roses? Can't you smell them, myfriend? Where can they be since you could not see them?"

"Yes, yes, I smell them, but there are none, " he replied. "I shouldcertainly have seen them, for I hunted everywhere. "

"How can you say that there are no roses when they perfume the air aroundus, when we are steeped in their aroma? Why, there are moments when thescent is so powerful that I almost faint with delight in inhaling it!They must certainly be here, innumerable, under our very feet. "

"No, no, " said Pierre, "I swear to you I hunted everywhere, and there areno roses. They must be invisible, or they may be the very grass we treadand the spreading trees that are around us; their perfume may come fromthe soil itself, from the torrent which flows along close by, from thewoods and the mountains that rise yonder. "

For a moment they remained silent. Then, in an undertone, she resumed:"How sweet they smell, Pierre! And it seems to me that even our claspedhands form a bouquet. "

"Yes, they smell delightfully sweet; but it is from you, Marie, that theperfume now ascends, as though the roses were budding from your hair. "

Then they ceased speaking. The procession was still gliding along, and atthe corner of the Basilica bright sparks were still appearing, flashingsuddenly from out of the obscurity, as though spurting from someinvisible source. The vast train of little flames, marching in doublefile, threw a riband of light across the darkness. But the great sightwas now on the Place du Rosaire, where the head of the procession, stillcontinuing its measured evolutions, was revolving and revolving in acircle which ever grew smaller, with a stubborn whirl which increased thedizziness of the weary pilgrims and the violence of their chants. Andsoon the circle formed a nucleus, the nucleus of a nebula, so to say, around which the endless riband of fire began to coil itself. And thebrasier grew larger and larger--there was first a pool, then a lake oflight. The whole vast Place du Rosaire changed at last into a burningocean, rolling its little sparkling wavelets with the dizzy motion of awhirlpool that never rested. A reflection like that of dawn whitened theBasilica; while the rest of the horizon faded into deep obscurity, amidstwhich you only saw a few stray tapers journeying alone, like glowwormsseeking their way with the help of their little lights. However, astraggling rear-guard of the procession must have climbed the Calvaryheight, for up there, against the sky, some moving stars could also beseen. Eventually the moment came when the last tapers appeared downbelow, marched round the lawns, flowed away, and were merged in the seaof flame. Thirty thousand tapers were burning there, still and everrevolving, quickening their sparkles under the vast calm heavens wherethe planets had grown pale. A luminous glow ascended in company with thestrains of the canticle which never ceased. And the roar of voicesincessantly repeating the refrain of "Ave, ave, ave Maria!" was like thevery crackling of those hearts of fire which were burning away in prayersin order that souls might be saved. 

The candles had just been extinguished, one by one, and the night wasfalling again, paramount, densely black, and extremely mild, when Pierreand Marie perceived that they were still there, hand in hand, hidden awayamong the trees. In the dim streets of Lourdes, far off, there were nowonly some stray, lost pilgrims inquiring their way, in order that theymight get to bed. Through the darkness there swept a rustling sound--therustling of those who prowl and fall asleep when days of festivity drawto a close. But the young priest and the girl lingered in their nookforgetfully, never stirring, but tasting delicious happiness amidst theperfume of the invisible roses. 

IV. THE VIGIL

WHEN Pierre dragged Marie in her box to the front of the Grotto, andplaced her as near as possible to the railing, it was past midnight, andabout a hundred persons were still there, some seated on the benches, butthe greater number kneeling as though prostrated in prayer. The Grottoshone from afar, with its multitude of lighted tapers, similar to theillumination round a coffin, though all that you could distinguish was astar-like blaze, from the midst of which, with visionary whiteness, emerged the statue of the Virgin in its niche. The hanging foliageassumed an emerald sheen, the hundreds of crutches covering the vaultresembled an inextricable network of dead wood on the point ofreflowering. And the darkness was rendered more dense by so great abrightness, the surroundings became lost in a deep shadow in whichnothing, neither walls nor trees, remained; whilst all alone ascended theangry and continuous murmur of the Gave, rolling along beneath thegloomy, boundless sky, now heavy with a gathering storm. 

"Are you comfortable, Marie?" gently inquired Pierre. "Don't you feelchilly?"

She had just shivered. But it was only at a breath from the other world, which had seemed to her to come from the Grotto. 

"No, no, I am so comfortable! Only place the shawl over my knees. And--thank you, Pierre--don't be anxious about me. I no longer requireanyone now that I am with her. "

Her voice died away, she was already falling into an ecstasy, her handsclasped, her eyes raised towards the white statue, in a beatifictransfiguration of the whole of her poor suffering face. 

Yet Pierre remained a few minutes longer beside her. He would have likedto wrap her in the shawl, for he perceived the trembling of her littlewasted hands. But he feared to annoy her, so confined himself to tuckingher in like a child; whilst she, slightly raised, with her elbows on theedges of her box, and her eyes fixed on the Grotto, no longer beheld him. 

A bench stood near, and he had just seated himself upon it, intending tocollect his thoughts, when his glance fell upon a woman kneeling in thegloom. Dressed in black, she was so slim, so discreet, so unobtrusive, sowrapt in darkness, that at first he had not noticed her. After a while, however, he recognised her as Madame Maze. The thought of the letterwhich she had received during the day then recurred to him. And the sightof her filled him with pity; he could feel for the forlornness of thissolitary woman, who had no physical sore to heal, but only implored theBlessed Virgin to relieve her heart-pain by converting her inconstanthusband. The letter had no doubt been some harsh reply, for, with bowedhead, she seemed almost annihilated, filled with the humility of somepoor beaten creature. It was only at night-time that she readily forgotherself there, happy at disappearing, at being able to weep, suffermartyrdom, and implore the return of the lost caresses, for hourstogether, without anyone suspecting her grievous secret. Her lips did noteven move; it was her wounded heart which prayed, which desperatelybegged for its share of love and happiness. 

Ah! that inextinguishable thirst for happiness which brought them allthere, wounded either in body or in spirit; Pierre also felt it parchinghis throat, in an ardent desire to be quenched. He longed to cast himselfupon his knees, to beg the divine aid with the same humble faith as thatwoman. But his limbs were as though tied; he could not find the words hewanted, and it was a relief when he at last felt someone touch him on thearm. "Come with me, Monsieur l'Abbe, if you do not know the Grotto, " saida voice. "I will find you a place. It is so pleasant there at this time!"

He raised his head, and recognised Baron Suire, the director of theHospitality of Our Lady of Salvation. This benevolent and simple man nodoubt felt some affection for him. He therefore accepted his offer, andfollowed him into the Grotto, which was quite empty. The Baron had a key, with which he locked the railing behind them. 

"You see, Monsieur l'Abbe, " said he, "this is the time when one canreally be comfortable here. For my part, whenever I come to spend a fewdays at Lourdes, I seldom retire to rest before daybreak, as I havefallen into the habit of finishing my night here. The place is deserted, one is quite alone, and is it not pleasant? How well one feels oneself tobe in the abode of the Blessed Virgin!"

He smiled with a kindly air, doing the honours of the Grotto like an oldfrequenter of the place, somewhat enfeebled by age, but full of genuineaffection for this delightful nook. Moreover, in spite of his greatpiety, he was in no way ill at ease there, but talked on and explainedmatters with the familiarity of a man who felt himself to be the friendof Heaven. 

"Ah! you are looking at the tapers, " he said. "There are about twohundred of them which burn together night and day; and they end by makingthe place warm. It is even warm here in winter. "

Indeed, Pierre was beginning to feel incommoded by the warm odour of thewax. Dazzled by the brilliant light into which he was penetrating, hegazed at the large, central, pyramidal holder, all bristling with littletapers, and resembling a luminous clipped yew glistening with stars. Inthe background, a straight holder, on a level with the ground, upheld thelarge tapers, which, like the pipes of an organ, formed a row of unevenheight, some of them being as large as a man's thigh. And yet otherholders, resembling massive candelabra, stood here and there on thejutting parts of the rock. The vault of the Grotto sank towards the left, where the stone seemed baked and blackened by the eternal flames whichhad been heating it for years. And the wax was perpetually dripping likefine snow; the trays of the holders were smothered with it, whitened byits ever-thickening dust. In fact, it coated the whole rock, which hadbecome quite greasy to the touch; and to such a degree did it cover theground that accidents had occurred, and it had been necessary to spreadsome mats about to prevent persons from slipping. 

"You see those large ones there, " obligingly continued Baron Suire. "Theyare the most expensive and cost sixty francs apiece; they will continueburning for a month. The smallest ones, which cost but five sous each, only last three hours. Oh! we don't husband them; we never run short. Look here! Here are two more hampers full, which there has not yet beentime to remove to the storehouse. "

Then he pointed to the furniture, which comprised a harmonium coveredwith a cloth, a substantial dresser with several large drawers in whichthe sacred vestments were kept, some benches and chairs reserved for theprivileged few who were admitted during the ceremonies, and finally avery handsome movable altar, which was adorned with engraved silverplates, the gift of a great lady, and--for fear of injury fromdampness--was only brought out on the occasions of remunerativepilgrimages. 

Pierre was disturbed by all this well-meant chatter. His religiousemotion lost some of its charm. In spite of his lack of faith, he had, onentering, experienced a feeling of agitation, a heaving of the soul, asthough the mystery were about to be revealed to him. It was at the sametime both an anxious and a delicious feeling. And he beheld things whichdeeply stirred him: bunches of flowers, lying in a heap at the Virgin'sfeet, with the votive offerings of children--little faded shoes, a tinyiron corselet, and a doll-like crutch which almost seemed to be a toy. Beneath the natural ogival cavity in which the apparition had appeared, at the spot where the pilgrims rubbed the chaplets and medals they wishedto consecrate, the rock was quite worn away and polished. Millions ofardent lips had pressed kisses on the wall with such intensity of lovethat the stone was as though calcined, streaked with black veins, shininglike marble. 

However, he stopped short at last opposite a cavity in which lay aconsiderable pile of letters and papers of every description. 

"Ah! I was forgetting, " hastily resumed Baron Suire; "this is the mostinteresting part of it. These are the letters which the faithful throwinto the Grotto through the railing every day. We gather them up andplace them there; and in the winter I amuse myself by glancing throughthem. You see, we cannot burn them without opening them, for they oftencontain money--francs, half-francs, and especially postage-stamps. "

He stirred up the letters, and, selecting a few at random, showed theaddresses, and opened them to read. Nearly all of them were letters fromilliterate persons, with the superscription, "To Our Lady of Lourdes, "scrawled on the envelopes in big, irregular handwriting. Many of themcontained requests or thanks, incorrectly worded and wondrously spelt;and nothing was more affecting than the nature of some of the petitions:a little brother to be saved, a lawsuit to be gained, a lover to bepreserved, a marriage to be effected. Other letters, however, were angryones, taking the Blessed Virgin to task for not having had the politenessto acknowledge a former communication by granting the writer's prayers. Then there were still others, written in a finer hand, with carefullyworded phrases containing confessions and fervent entreaties; and thesewere from women who confided to the Queen of Heaven things which theydared not even say to a priest in the shadow of the confessional. Finally, one envelope, selected at random, merely contained a photograph;a young girl had sent her portrait to Our Lady of Lourdes, with thisdedication: "To my good Mother. " In short, they every day received thecorrespondence of a most powerful Queen, to whom both prayers and secretswere addressed, and who was expected to reply with favours and kindnessesof every kind. The franc and half-franc pieces were simple tokens of loveto propitiate her; while, as for the postage-stamps, these could only besent for convenience' sake, in lieu of coined money; unless, indeed, theywere sent guilelessly, as in the case of a peasant woman who had added apostscript to her letter to say that she enclosed a stamp for the reply. 

"I can assure you, " concluded the Baron, "that there are some very niceones among them, much less foolish than you might imagine. During aperiod of three years I constantly found some very interesting lettersfrom a lady who did nothing without relating it to the Blessed Virgin. She was a married woman, and entertained a most dangerous passion for afriend of her husband's. Well, Monsieur l'Abbe, she overcame it; theBlessed Virgin answered her by sending her an armour for her chastity, anall-divine power to resist the promptings of her heart. " Then he brokeoff to say: "But come and seat yourself here, Monsieur l'Abbe. You willsee how comfortable you will be. "

Pierre went and placed himself beside him on a bench on the left hand, atthe spot where the rock sloped down. This was a deliciously reposefulcorner, and neither the one nor the other spoke; a profound silence hadensued, when, behind him, Pierre heard an indistinct murmur, a lightcrystalline voice, which seemed to come from the Invisible. He gave astart, which Baron Suire understood. 

"That is the spring which you hear, " said he; "it is there, underground, below this grating. Would you like to see it?"

And without waiting for Pierre's reply, he at once bent down to open oneof the iron plates protecting the spring, mentioning that it was thusclosed up in order to prevent freethinkers from throwing poison into it. For a moment this extraordinary idea quite amazed the priest; but heended by attributing it entirely to the Baron, who was, indeed, verychildish. The latter, meantime, was vainly struggling with the padlock, which opened by a combination of letters, and refused to yield to hisendeavours. "It is singular, " he muttered; "the word is _Rome_, and I ampositive that it hasn't been changed. The damp destroys everything. Everytwo years or so we are obliged to replace those crutches up there, otherwise they would all rot away. Be good enough to bring me a taper. "

By the light of the candle which Pierre then took from one of theholders, he at last succeeded in unfastening the brass padlock, which wascovered with _vert-de-gris_. Then, the plate having been raised, thespring appeared to view. Upon a bed of muddy gravel, in a fissure of therock, there was a limpid stream, quite tranquil, but seemingly spreadingover a rather large surface. The Baron explained that it had beennecessary to conduct it to the fountains through pipes coated withcement; and he even admitted that, behind the piscinas, a large cisternhad been dug in which the water was collected during the night, asotherwise the small output of the source would not suffice for the dailyrequirements. 

"Will you taste it?" he suddenly asked. "It is much better here, freshfrom the earth. "

Pierre did not answer; he was gazing at that tranquil, innocent water, which assumed a moire-like golden sheen in the dancing light of thetaper. The falling drops of wax now and again ruffled its surface. And, as he gazed at it, the young priest pondered upon all the mystery itbrought with it from the distant mountain slopes. 

"Come, drink some!" said the Baron, who had already dipped and filled aglass which was kept there handy. The priest had no choice but to emptyit; it was good pure, water, fresh and transparent, like that which flowsfrom all the lofty uplands of the Pyrenees. 

After refastening the padlock, they both returned to the bench. Now andagain Pierre could still hear the spring flowing behind him, with a musicresembling the gentle warble of some unseen bird. And now the Baron againraised his voice, giving him the history of the Grotto at all times andseasons, in a pathetic babble, replete with puerile details. 

The summer was the roughest season, for then came the great itinerantpilgrimage crowds, with the uproarious fervour of thousands of eagerbeings, all praying and vociferating together. But with the autumn camethe rain, those diluvial rains which beat against the Grotto entrance fordays together; and with them arrived the pilgrims from remote countries, small, silent, and ecstatic bands of Indians, Malays, and even Chinese, who fell upon their knees in the mud at the sign from the missionariesaccompanying them. Of all the old provinces of France, it was Brittanythat sent the most devout pilgrims, whole parishes arriving together, themen as numerous as the women, and all displaying a pious deportment, asimple and unostentatious faith, such as might edify the world. Then camethe winter, December with its terrible cold, its dense snow-driftsblocking the mountain ways. But even then families put up at the hotels, and, despite everything, faithful worshippers--all those who, fleeing thenoise of the world, wished to speak to the Virgin in the tender intimacyof solitude--still came every morning to the Grotto. Among them were somewhom no one knew, who appeared directly they felt certain they would bealone there to kneel and love like jealous lovers; and who departed, frightened away by the first suspicion of a crowd. And how warm andpleasant the place was throughout the foul winter weather! In spite ofrain and wind and snow, the Grotto still continued flaring. Even duringnights of howling tempest, when not a soul was there, it lighted up theempty darkness, blazing like a brasier of love that nothing couldextinguish. The Baron related that, at the time of the heavy snowfall ofthe previous winter, he had spent whole afternoons there, on the benchwhere they were then seated. A gentle warmth prevailed, although the spotfaced the north and was never reached by a ray of sunshine. No doubt thecircumstance of the burning tapers continually heating the rock explainedthis generous warmth; but might one not also believe in some charmingkindness on the part of the Virgin, who endowed the spot with perpetualspringtide? And the little birds were well aware of it; when the snow onthe ground froze their feet, all the finches of the neighbourhood soughtshelter there, fluttering about in the ivy around the holy statue. Atlength came the awakening of the real spring: the Gave, swollen withmelted snow, and rolling on with a voice of thunder: the trees, under theaction of their sap, arraying themselves in a mantle of greenery, whilstthe crowds, once more returning, noisily invaded the sparkling Grotto, whence they drove the little birds of heaven. 

"Yes, yes, " repeated Baron Suire, in a declining voice, "I spent somemost delightful winter days here all alone. I saw no one but a woman, wholeant against the railing to avoid kneeling in the snow. She was quiteyoung, twenty-five perhaps, and very pretty--dark, with magnificent blueeyes. She never spoke, and did not even seem to pray, but remained therefor hours together, looking intensely sad. I do not know who she was, norhave I ever seen her since. "

He ceased speaking; and when, a couple of minutes later, Pierre, surprised at his silence, looked at him, he perceived that he had fallenasleep. With his hands clasped upon his belly, his chin resting on hischest, he slept as peacefully as a child, a smile hovering the whileabout his mouth. Doubtless, when he said that he spent the night there, he meant that he came thither to indulge in the early nap of a happy oldman, whose dreams are of the angels. And now Pierre tasted all the charmsof the solitude. It was indeed true that a feeling of peacefulness andcomfort permeated the soul in this rocky nook. It was occasioned by thesomewhat stifling fumes of the burning wax, by the transplendent ecstasyinto which one sank amidst the glare of the tapers. The young priestcould no longer distinctly see the crutches on the roof, the votiveofferings hanging from the sides, the altar of engraved silver, and theharmonium in its wrapper, for a slow intoxication seemed to be stealingover him, a gradual prostration of his whole being. And he particularlyexperienced the divine sensation of having left the living world, ofhaving attained to the far realms of the marvellous and the superhuman, as though that simple iron railing yonder had become the very barrier ofthe Infinite. 

However, a slight noise on his left again disturbed him. It was thespring flowing, ever flowing on, with its bird-like warble. Ah! how hewould have liked to fall upon his knees and believe in the miracle, toacquire a certain conviction that that divine water had gushed from therock solely for the healing of suffering humanity. Had he not come thereto prostrate himself and implore the Virgin to restore the faith of hischildhood? Why, then, did he not pray, why did he not beseech her tobring him back to grace? His feeling of suffocation increased, theburning tapers dazzled him almost to the point of giddiness. And, all atonce, the recollection came to him that for two days past, amidst thegreat freedom which priests enjoyed at Lourdes, he had neglected to sayhis mass. He was in a state of sin, and perhaps it was the weight of thistransgression which was oppressing his heart. He suffered so much that hewas at last compelled to rise from his seat and walk away. He gentlyclosed the gate behind him, leaving Baron Suire still asleep do thebench. Marie, he found, had not stirred, but was still raised on herelbows, with her ecstatic eyes uplifted towards the figure of the Virgin. 

"How are you, Marie?" asked Pierre. "Don't you feel cold?"

She did not reply. He felt her hands and found them warm and soft, albeitslightly trembling. "It is not the cold which makes you tremble, is it, Marie?" he asked. 

In a voice as gentle as a zephyr she replied: "No, no! let me be; I am sohappy! I shall see her, I feel it. Ah! what joy!"

So, after slightly pulling up her shawl, he went forth into the night, aprey to indescribable agitation. Beyond the bright glow of the Grotto wasa night as black as ink, a region of darkness, into which he plunged atrandom. Then, as his eyes became accustomed to this gloom, he foundhimself near the Gave, and skirted it, following a path shaded by talltrees, where he again came upon a refreshing obscurity. This shade andcoolness, both so soothing, now brought him relief. And his only surprisewas that he had not fallen on his knees in the Grotto, and prayed, evenas Marie was praying, with all the power of his soul. What could be theobstacle within him? Whence came the irresistible revolt which preventedhim from surrendering himself to faith even when his overtaxed, torturedbeing longed to yield? He understood well enough that it was his reasonalone which protested, and the time had come when he would gladly havekilled that voracious reason, which was devouring his life and preventinghim from enjoying the happiness allowed to the ignorant and the simple. Perhaps, had he beheld a miracle, he might have acquired enough strengthof will to believe. For instance, would he not have bowed himself down, vanquished at last, if Marie had suddenly risen up and walked before him. The scene which he conjured up of Marie saved, Marie cured, affected himso deeply that he stopped short, his trembling arms uplifted towards thestar-spangled vault of heaven. What a lovely night it was!--so deep andmysterious, so airy and fragrant; and what joy rained down at the hopethat eternal health might be restored, that eternal love might everrevive, even as spring returns! Then he continued his walk, following thepath to the end. But his doubts were again coming back to him; when youneed a miracle to gain belief, it means that you are incapable ofbelieving. There is no need for the Almighty to prove His existence. Pierre also felt uneasy at the thought that, so long as he had notdischarged his priestly duties by saying his mass, his prayers would notbe answered. Why did he not go at once to the church of the Rosary, whosealtars, from midnight till noon, are placed at the disposal of thepriests who come from a distance? Thus thinking, he descended by anotherpath, again finding himself beneath the trees, near the leafy spot whencehe and Marie had watched the procession of tapers. Not a light nowremained, there was but a boundless expanse of gloom. 

Here Pierre experienced a fresh attack of faintness, and as though togain time, he turned mechanically into the pilgrims' shelter-house. Itsdoor had remained wide open; still this failed to sufficiently ventilatethe spacious hall, which was now full of people. On the very thresholdPierre felt oppressed by the stifling heat emanating from the multitudeof bodies, the dense pestilential smell of human breath and perspiration. The smoking lanterns gave out so bad a light that he had to pick his waywith extreme care in order to avoid treading upon outstretched limbs; forthe overcrowding was extraordinary, and many persons, unable to find roomon the benches, had stretched themselves on the pavement, on the dampstone slabs fouled by all the refuse of the day. And on all sidesindescribable promiscuousness prevailed: prostrated by overpoweringweariness, men, women, and priests were lying there, pell-mell, atrandom, open-mouthed and utterly exhausted. A large number were snoring, seated on the slabs, with their backs against the walls and their headsdrooping on their chests. Others had slipped down, with limbsintermingled, and one young girl lay prostrate across an old countrypriest, who in his calm, childlike slumber was smiling at the angels. Itwas like a cattle-shed sheltering poor wanderers of the roads, all thosewho were homeless on that beautiful holiday night, and who had dropped inthere and fallen fraternally asleep. Still, there were some who found norepose in their feverish excitement, but turned and twisted, or rose upto finish eating the food which remained in their baskets. Others couldbe seen lying perfectly motionless, their eyes wide open and fixed uponthe gloom. The cries of dreamers, the wailing of sufferers, arose amidstgeneral snoring. And pity came to the heart, a pity full of anguish, atsight of this flock of wretches lying there in heaps in loathsome rags, whilst their poor spotless souls no doubt were far away in the blue realmof some mystical dream. Pierre was on the point of withdrawing, feelingsick at heart, when a low continuous moan attracted his attention. Helooked, and recognised Madame Vincent, on the same spot and in the sameposition as before, still nursing little Rose upon her lap. "Ah! Monsieurl'Abbe, " the poor woman murmured, "you hear her; she woke up nearly anhour ago, and has been sobbing ever since. Yet I assure you I have notmoved even a finger, I felt so happy at seeing her sleep. "

The priest bent down, examining the little one, who had not even thestrength to raise her eyelids. A plaintive cry no stronger than a breathwas coming from her lips; and she was so white that he shuddered, for hefelt that death was hovering near. 

"Dear me! what shall I do?" continued the poor mother, utterly worn out. "This cannot last; I can no longer bear to hear her cry. And if you knewall that I have been saying to her: 'My jewel, my treasure, my angel, Ibeseech you cry no more. Be good; the Blessed Virgin will cure you!' Andyet she still cries on. "

With these words the poor creature burst out sobbing, her big tearsfalling on the face of the child, whose rattle still continued. "Had itbeen daylight, " she resumed, "I would long ago have left this hall, themore especially as she disturbs the others. There is an old lady yonderwho has already complained. But I fear it may be chilly outside; andbesides, where could I go in the middle of the night? Ah! Blessed Virgin, Blessed Virgin, take pity upon us!"

Overcome by emotion, Pierre kissed the child's fair head, and thenhastened away to avoid bursting into tears like the sorrowing mother. Andhe went straight to the Rosary, as though he were determined to conquerdeath. 

He had already beheld the Rosary in broad daylight, and had beendispleased by the aspect of this church, which the architect, fettered bythe rockbound site, had been obliged to make circular and low, so that itseemed crushed beneath its great cupola, which square pillars supported. The worst was that, despite its archaic Byzantine style, it altogetherlacked any religious appearance, and suggested neither mystery normeditation. Indeed, with the glaring light admitted by the cupola and thebroad glazed doors it was more like some brand-new corn-market. And then, too, it was not yet completed: the decorations were lacking, the barewalls against which the altars stood had no other embellishment than someartificial roses of coloured paper and a few insignificant votiveofferings; and this bareness heightened the resemblance to some vastpublic hall. Moreover, in time of rain the paved floor became as muddy asthat of a general waiting-room at a railway station. The high altar was atemporary structure of painted wood. Innumerable rows of benches filledthe central rotunda, benches free to the public, on which people couldcome and rest at all hours, for night and day alike the Rosary remainedopen to the swarming pilgrims. Like the shelter-house, it was a cow-shedin which the Almighty received the poor ones of the earth. 

On entering, Pierre felt himself to be in some common hall trod by thefootsteps of an ever-changing crowd. But the brilliant sunlight no longerstreamed on the pallid walls, the tapers burning at every altar simplygleamed like stars amidst the uncertain gloom which filled the building. A solemn high mass had been celebrated at midnight with extraordinarypomp, amidst all the splendour of candles, chants, golden vestments, andswinging, steaming censers; but of all this glorious display there nowremained only the regulation number of tapers necessary for thecelebration of the masses at each of the fifteen altars ranged around theedifice. These masses began at midnight and did not cease till noon. Nearly four hundred were said during those twelve hours at the Rosaryalone. Taking the whole of Lourdes, where there were altogether somefifty altars, more than two thousand masses were celebrated daily. And sogreat was the abundance of priests, that many had extreme difficulty infulfilling their duties, having to wait for hours together before theycould find an altar unoccupied. What particularly struck Pierre thatevening, was the sight of all the altars besieged by rows of priestspatiently awaiting their turn in the dim light at the foot of the steps;whilst the officiating minister galloped through the Latin phrases, hastily punctuating them with the prescribed signs of the cross. And theweariness of all the waiting ones was so great, that most of them wereseated on the flagstones, some even dozing on the altar steps in heaps, quite overpowered, relying on the beadle to come and rouse them. 

For a moment Pierre walked about undecided. Was he going to wait like theothers? However, the scene determined him against doing so. At everyaltar, at every mass, a crowd of pilgrims was gathered, communicating inall haste with a sort of voracious fervour. Each pyx was filled andemptied incessantly; the priests' hands grew tired in thus distributingthe bread of life; and Pierre's surprise increased at the sight. Neverbefore had he beheld a corner of this earth so watered by the divineblood, whence faith took wing in such a flight of souls. It was like areturn to the heroic days of the Church, when all nations prostratedthemselves beneath the same blast of credulity in their terrifiedignorance which led them to place their hope of eternal happiness in anAlmighty God. He could fancy himself carried back some eight or ninecenturies, to the time of great public piety, when people believed in theapproaching end of the world; and this he could fancy the more readily asthe crowd of simple folk, the whole host that had attended high mass, wasstill seated on the benches, as much at ease in God's house as at home. Many had no place of refuge. Was not the church their home, the asylumwhere consolation awaited them both by day and by night? Those who knewnot where to sleep, who had not found room even at the shelter place, came to the Rosary, where sometimes they succeeded in finding a vacantseat on a bench, at others sufficient space to lie down on theflagstones. And others who had beds awaiting them lingered there for thejoy of passing a whole night in that divine abode, so full of beautifuldreams. Until daylight the concourse and promiscuity were extraordinary;every row of benches was occupied, sleeping persons were scattered inevery corner and behind every pillar; men, women, children were leaningagainst each other, their heads on one another's shoulders, their breathmingling in calm unconsciousness. It was the break-up of a religiousgathering overwhelmed by sleep, a church transformed into a chancehospital, its doors wide open to the lovely August night, giving accessto all who were wandering in the darkness, the good and the bad, theweary and the lost. And all over the place, from each of the fifteenaltars, the bells announcing the elevation of the Host incessantlysounded, whilst from among the mob of sleepers bands of believers now andagain arose, went and received the sacrament, and then returned to mingleonce more with the nameless, shepherdless flock which the semi-obscurityenveloped like a veil. 

With an air of restless indecision, Pierre was still wandering throughthe shadowy groups, when an old priest, seated on the step of an altar, beckoned to him. For two hours he had been waiting there, and now thathis turn was at length arriving he felt so faint that he feared he mightnot have strength to say the whole of his mass, and preferred, therefore, to surrender his place to another. No doubt the sight of Pierre, wandering so distressfully in the gloom, had moved him. He pointed thevestry out to him, waited until he returned with chasuble and chalice, and then went off and fell into a sound sleep on one of the neighbouringbenches. Pierre thereupon said his mass in the same way as he said it atParis, like a worthy man fulfilling a professional duty. He outwardlymaintained an air of sincere faith. But, contrary to what he had expectedfrom the two feverish days through which he had just gone, from theextraordinary and agitating surroundings amidst which he had spent thelast few hours, nothing moved him nor touched his heart. He had hopedthat a great commotion would overpower him at the moment of thecommunion, when the divine mystery is accomplished; that he would findhimself in view of Paradise, steeped in grace, in the very presence ofthe Almighty; but there was no manifestation, his chilled heart did noteven throb, he went on to the end pronouncing the usual words, making theregulation gestures, with the mechanical accuracy of the profession. Inspite of his effort to be fervent, one single idea kept obstinatelyreturning to his mind--that the vestry was far too small, since such anenormous number of masses had to be said. How could the sacristans manageto distribute the holy vestments and the cloths? It puzzled him, andengaged his thoughts with absurd persistency. 

At length, to his surprise, he once more found himself outside. Again hewandered through the night, a night which seemed to him utterly void, darker and stiller than before. The town was lifeless, not a light wasgleaming. There only remained the growl of the Gave, which his accustomedears no longer heard. And suddenly, similar to a miraculous apparition, the Grotto blazed before him, illumining the darkness with itseverlasting brasier, which burnt with a flame of inextinguishable love. He had returned thither unconsciously, attracted no doubt by thoughts ofMarie. Three o'clock was about to strike, the benches before the Grottowere emptying, and only some twenty persons remained there, dark, indistinct forms, kneeling in slumberous ecstasy, wrapped in divinetorpor. It seemed as though the night in progressing had increased thegloom, and imparted a remote visionary aspect to the Grotto. All fadedaway amidst delicious lassitude, sleep reigned supreme over the dim, far-spreading country side; whilst the voice of the invisible watersseemed to be merely the breathing of this pure slumber, upon which theBlessed Virgin, all white with her aureola of tapers, was smiling. Andamong the few unconscious women was Madame Maze, still kneeling, withclasped hands and bowed head, but so indistinct that she seemed to havemelted away amidst her ardent prayer. 

Pierre, however, had immediately gone up to Marie. He was shivering, andfancied that she must be chilled by the early morning air. "I beseechyou, Marie, cover yourself up, " said he. "Do you want to suffer stillmore?" And thereupon he drew up the shawl which had slipped off her, andendeavoured to fasten it about her neck. "You are cold, Marie, " he added;"your hands are like ice. "

She did not answer, she was still in the same attitude as when he hadleft her a couple of hours previously. With her elbows resting on theedges of her box, she kept herself raised, her soul still lifted towardsthe Blessed Virgin and her face transfigured, beaming with a celestialjoy. Her lips moved, though no sound came from them. Perhaps she wasstill carrying on some mysterious conversation in the world ofenchantments, dreaming wide awake, as she had been doing ever since hehad placed her there. He spoke to her again, but still she answered not. At last, however, of her own accord, she murmured in a far-away voice:"Oh! I am so happy, Pierre! I have seen her; I prayed to her for you, andshe smiled at me, slightly nodding her head to let me know that she heardme and would grant my prayers. And though she did not speak to me, Pierre, I understood what she wished me to know. 'Tis to-day, at fouro'clock in the afternoon, when the Blessed Sacrament passes by, that Ishall be cured!"

He listened to her in deep agitation. Had she been sleeping with her eyeswide open? Was it in a dream that she had seen the marble figure of theBlessed Virgin bend its head and smile? A great tremor passed through himat the thought that this poor child had prayed for him. And he walked upto the railing, and dropped upon his knees, stammering: "O Marie! OMarie!" without knowing whether this heart-cry were intended for theVirgin or for the beloved friend of his childhood. And he remained there, utterly overwhelmed, waiting for grace to come to him. 

Endless minutes went by. This was indeed the superhuman effort, thewaiting for the miracle which he had come to seek for himself, the suddenrevelation, the thunderclap which was to sweep away his unbelief andrestore him, rejuvenated and triumphant, to the faith of thesimple-minded. He surrendered himself, he wished that some mighty powermight ravage his being and transform it. But, even as before whilstsaying his mass, he heard naught within him but an endless silence, feltnothing but a boundless vacuum. There was no divine intervention, hisdespairing heart almost seemed to cease beating. And although he stroveto pray, to fix his mind wholly upon that powerful Virgin, socompassionate to poor humanity, his thoughts none the less wandered, wonback by the outside world, and again turning to puerile trifles. Withinthe Grotto, on the other side of the railing, he had once more caughtsight of Baron Suire, still asleep, still continuing his pleasant napwith his hands clasped in front of him. Other things also attracted hisattention: the flowers deposited at the feet of the Virgin, the letterscast there as though into a heavenly letter-box, the delicate lace-likework of wax which remained erect around the flames of the larger tapers, looking like some rich silver ornamentation. Then, without any apparentreason, his thoughts flew away to the days of his childhood, and hisbrother Guillaume's face rose before him with extreme distinctness. Hehad not seen him since their mother's death. He merely knew that he led avery secluded life, occupying himself with scientific matters, in alittle house in which he had buried himself with a mistress and two bigdogs; and he would have known nothing more about him, but for havingrecently read his name in a newspaper in connection with somerevolutionary attempt. It was stated that he was passionately devotinghimself to the study of explosives, and in constant intercourse with theleaders of the most advanced parties. Why, however, should Guillaumeappear to him in this wise, in this ecstatic spot, amidst the mysticallight of the tapers, --appear to him, moreover, such as he had formerlyknown him, so good, affectionate, and brotherly, overflowing with charityfor every affliction! The thought haunted him for a moment, and filledhim with painful regret for that brotherliness now dead and gone. Then, with hardly a moment's pause, his mind reverted to himself, and herealised that he might stubbornly remain there for hours withoutregaining faith. Nevertheless, he felt a sort of tremor pass through him, a final hope, a feeling that if the Blessed Virgin should perform thegreat miracle of curing Marie, he would at last believe. It was like afinal delay which he allowed himself, an appointment with Faith for thatvery day, at four o'clock in the afternoon, when, according to what thegirl had told him, the Blessed Sacrament would pass by. And at thisthought his anguish at once ceased, he remained kneeling, worn out withfatigue and overcome by invincible drowsiness. 

The hours passed by, the resplendent illumination of the Grotto was stillprojected into the night, its reflection stretching to the neighbouringhillsides and whitening the walls of the convents there. However, Pierrenoticed it grow paler and paler, which surprised him, and he rousedhimself, feeling thoroughly chilled; it was the day breaking, beneath aleaden sky overcast with clouds. He perceived that one of those storms, so sudden in mountainous regions, was rapidly rising from the south. Thethunder could already be heard rumbling in the distance, whilst gusts ofwind swept along the roads. Perhaps he also had been sleeping, for he nolonger beheld Baron Suire, whose departure he did not remember havingwitnessed. There were scarcely ten persons left before the Grotto, thoughamong them he again recognised Madame Maze with her face hidden in herhands. However, when she noticed that it was daylight and that she couldbe seen, she rose up, and vanished at a turn of the narrow path leadingto the convent of the Blue Sisters. 

Feeling anxious, Pierre went up to Marie to tell her she must not remainthere any longer, unless she wished to get wet through. "I will take youback to the hospital, " said he. 

She refused and then entreated: "No, no! I am waiting for mass; Ipromised to communicate here. Don't trouble about me, return to the hotelat once, and go to bed, I implore you. You know very well that coveredvehicles are sent here for the sick whenever it rains. "

And she persisted in refusing to leave, whilst on his side he kept onrepeating that he did not wish to go to bed. A mass, it should bementioned, was said at the Grotto early every morning, and it was adivine joy for the pilgrims to be able to communicate, amidst the gloryof the rising sun, after a long night of ecstasy. And now, just as somelarge drops of rain were beginning to fall, there came the priest, wearing a chasuble and accompanied by two acolytes, one of whom, in orderto protect the chalice, held a large white silk umbrella, embroideredwith gold, over him. 

Pierre, after pushing Marie's little conveyance close to the railing, sothat the girl might be sheltered by the overhanging rock, under which thefew other worshippers had also sought refuge, had just seen her receivethe sacrament with ardent fervour, when his attention was attracted by apitiful spectacle which quite wrung his heart. 

Beneath a dense, heavy deluge of rain, he caught sight of Madame Vincent, still with that precious, woeful burden, her little Rose, whom withoutstretched arms she was offering to the Blessed Virgin. Unable to stayany longer at the shelter-house owing to the complaints caused by thechild's constant moaning, she had carried her off into the night, andduring two hours had roamed about in the darkness, lost, distracted, bearing this poor flesh of her flesh, which she pressed to her bosom, unable to give it any relief. She knew not what road she had taken, beneath what trees she had strayed, so absorbed had she been in herrevolt against the unjust sufferings which had so sorely stricken thispoor little being, so feeble and so pure, and as yet quite incapable ofsin. Was it not abominable that the grip of disease should for weeks havebeen incessantly torturing her child, whose cry she knew not how toquiet? She carried her about, rocking her in her arms as she went wildlyalong the paths, obstinately hoping that she would at last get her tosleep, and so hush that wail which was rending her heart. And suddenly, utterly worn-out, sharing each of her daughter's death pangs, she foundherself opposite the Grotto, at the feet of the miracle-working Virgin, she who forgave and who healed. 

"O Virgin, Mother most admirable, heal her! O Virgin, Mother of DivineGrace, heal her!"

She had fallen on her knees, and with quivering, outstretched arms wasstill offering her expiring daughter, in a paroxysm of hope and desirewhich seemed to raise her from the ground. And the rain, which she nevernoticed, beat down behind her with the fury of an escaped torrent, whilstviolent claps of thunder shook the mountains. For one moment she thoughther prayer was granted, for Rose had slightly shivered as though visitedby the archangel, her face becoming quite white, her eyes and mouthopening wide; and with one last little gasp she ceased to cry. 

"O Virgin, Mother of Our Redeemer, heal her! O Virgin, All-powerfulMother, heal her!"

But the poor woman felt her child become even lighter in her extendedarms. And now she became afraid at no longer hearing her moan, at seeingher so white, with staring eyes and open mouth, without a sign of life. How was it that she did not smile if she were cured? Suddenly a loudheart-rending cry rang out, the cry of the mother, surpassing even thedin of the thunder in the storm, whose violence was increasing. Her childwas dead. And she rose up erect, turned her back on that deaf Virgin wholet little children die, and started off like a madwoman beneath thelashing downpour, going straight before her without knowing whither, andstill and ever carrying and nursing that poor little body which she hadheld in her arms during so many days and nights. A thunderbolt fell, shivering one of the neighbouring trees, as though with the stroke of agiant axe, amidst a great crash of twisted and broken branches. 

Pierre had rushed after Madame Vincent, eager to guide and help her. Buthe was unable to follow her, for he at once lost sight of her behind theblurring curtain of rain. When he returned, the mass was drawing to anend, and, as soon as the rain fell less violently, the officiating priestwent off under the white silk umbrella embroidered with gold. Meantime akind of omnibus awaited the few patients to take them back to thehospital. 

Marie pressed Pierre's hands. "Oh! how happy I am!" she said. "Do notcome for me before three o'clock this afternoon. "

On being left amidst the rain, which had now become an obstinate finedrizzle, Pierre re-entered the Grotto and seated himself on the benchnear the spring. He would not go to bed, for in spite of his weariness hedreaded sleep in the state of nervous excitement in which he had beenplunged ever since the day before. Little Rose's death had increased hisfever; he could not banish from his mind the thought of that heart-brokenmother, wandering along the muddy paths with the dead body of her child. What could be the reasons which influenced the Virgin? He was amazed thatshe could make a choice. Divine Mother as she was, he wondered how herheart could decide upon healing only ten out of a hundred sufferers--thatten per cent. Of miracles which Doctor Bonamy had proved by statistics. He, Pierre, had already asked himself the day before which ones he wouldhave chosen had he possessed the power of saving ten. A terrible power inall truth, a formidable selection, which he would never have had thecourage to make. Why this one, and not that other? Where was the justice, where the compassion? To be all-powerful and heal every one of them, wasnot that the desire which rose from each heart? And the Virgin seemed tohim to be cruel, badly informed, as harsh and indifferent as evenimpassible nature, distributing life and death at random, or inaccordance with laws which mankind knew nothing of. 

The rain was at last leaving off, and Pierre had been there a couple ofhours when he felt that his feet were damp. He looked down, and wasgreatly surprised, for the spring was overflowing through the gratings. The soil of the Grotto was already covered; whilst outside a sheet ofwater was flowing under the benches, as far as the parapet against theGave. The late storms had swollen the waters in the neighbourhood. Pierrethereupon reflected that this spring, in spite of its miraculous origin, was subject to the laws that governed other springs, for it certainlycommunicated with some natural reservoirs, wherein the rain penetratedand accumulated. And then, to keep his ankles dry, he left the place. 

V. THE TWO VICTIMS

PIERRE walked along thirsting for fresh air, his head so heavy that hetook off his hat to relieve his burning brow. Despite all the fatigue ofthat terrible night of vigil, he did not think of sleeping. He was kepterect by that rebellion of his whole being which he could not quiet. Eight o'clock was striking, and he walked at random under the gloriousmorning sun, now shining forth in a spotless sky, which the storm seemedto have cleansed of all the Sunday dust. 

All at once, however, he raised his head, anxious to know where he was;and he was quite astonished, for he found that he had already covered adeal of ground, and was now below the station, near the municipalhospital. He was hesitating at a point where the road forked, not knowingwhich direction to take, when a friendly hand was laid on his shoulder, and a voice inquired: "Where are you going at this early hour?"

It was Doctor Chassaigne who addressed him, drawing up his lofty figure, clad in black from head to foot. "Have you lost yourself?" he added; "doyou want to know your way?"

"No, thanks, no, " replied Pierre, somewhat disturbed. "I spent the nightat the Grotto with that young patient to whom I am so much attached, andmy heart was so upset that I have been walking about in the hope it woulddo me good, before returning to the hotel to take a little sleep. "

The doctor continued looking at him, clearly detecting the frightfulstruggle which was raging within him, the despair which he felt at beingunable to sink asleep in faith, the suffering which the futility of allhis efforts brought him. "Ah, my poor child!" murmured M. Chassaigne; andin a fatherly way he added: "Well, since you are walking, suppose we takea walk together? I was just going down yonder, to the bank of the Gave. Come along, and on our way back you will see what a lovely view we shallhave. "

For his part, the doctor took a walk of a couple of hours' duration eachmorning, ever alone, seeking, as it were, to tire and exhaust his grief. First of all, as soon as he had risen, he repaired to the cemetery, andknelt on the tomb of his wife and daughter, which, at all seasons, hedecked with flowers. And afterwards he would roam along the roads, withtearful eyes, never returning home until fatigue compelled him. 

With a wave of the hand, Pierre accepted his proposal, and in perfectsilence they went, side by side, down the sloping road. They remained fora long time without speaking; the doctor seemed more overcome than washis wont that morning; it was as though his chat with his dear lost oneshad made his heart bleed yet more copiously. He walked along with hishead bowed; his face, round which his white hair streamed, was very pale, and tears still blurred his eyes. And yet it was so pleasant, so warm inthe sunlight on that lovely morning. The road now followed the Gave onits right bank, on the other side of the new town; and you could see thegardens, the inclined ways, and the Basilica. And, all at once, theGrotto appeared, with the everlasting flare of its tapers, now paling inthe broad light. 

Doctor Chassaigne, who had turned his head, made the sign of the cross, which Pierre did not at first understand. And when, in his turn, he hadperceived the Grotto, he glanced in surprise at his old friend, and oncemore relapsed into the astonishment which had come over him a couple ofdays previously on finding this man of science, this whilom atheist andmaterialist, so overwhelmed by grief that he was now a believer, longingfor the one delight of meeting his dear ones in another life. His hearthad swept his reason away; old and lonely as he was, it was only theillusion that he would live once more in Paradise, where loving soulsmeet again, that prolonged his life on earth. This thought increased theyoung priest's discomfort. Must he also wait until he had grown old andendured equal sufferings in order to find a refuge in faith?

Still walking beside the Gave, leaving the town farther and fartherbehind them, they were lulled as it were by the noise of those clearwaters rolling over the pebbles between banks shaded by trees. And theystill remained silent, walking on with an equal step, each, on his ownside, absorbed in his sorrows. 

"And Bernadette, " Pierre suddenly inquired; "did you know her?"

The doctor raised his head. "Bernadette? Yes, yes, " said he. "I saw heronce--afterwards. " He relapsed into silence for a moment, and then beganchatting: "In 1858, you know, at the time of the apparitions, I wasthirty years of age. I was in Paris, still young in my profession, andopposed to all supernatural notions, so that I had no idea of returningto my native mountains to see a girl suffering from hallucinations. Fiveor six years later, however, some time about 1864, I passed throughLourdes, and was inquisitive enough to pay Bernadette a visit. She wasthen still at the asylum with the Sisters of Nevers. "

Pierre remembered that one of the reasons of his journey had been hisdesire to complete his inquiry respecting Bernadette. And who could tellif grace might not come to him from that humble, lovable girl, on the daywhen he should be convinced that she had indeed fulfilled a mission ofdivine love and forgiveness? For this consummation to ensue it wouldperhaps suffice that he should know her better and learn to feel that shewas really the saint, the chosen one, as others believed her to havebeen. 

"Tell me about her, I pray you, " he said; "tell me all you know of her. "

A faint smile curved the doctor's lips. He understood, and would havegreatly liked to calm and comfort the young priest whose soul was sogrievously tortured by doubt. "Oh! willingly, my poor child!" heanswered. "I should be so happy to help you on the path to light. You dowell to love Bernadette--that may save you; for since all those old-timethings I have deeply reflected on her case, and I declare to you that Inever met a more charming creature, or one with a better heart. "

Then, to the slow rhythm of their footsteps along the well-kept, sunlitroad, in the delightful freshness of morning, the doctor began to relatehis visit to Bernadette in 1864. She had then just attained her twentiethbirthday, the apparitions had taken place six years previously, and shehad astonished him by her candid and sensible air, her perfect modesty. The Sisters of Nevers, who had taught her to read, kept her with them atthe asylum in order to shield her from public inquisitiveness. She foundan occupation there, helping them in sundry petty duties; but she wasvery often taken ill, and would spend weeks at a time in her bed. Thedoctor had been particularly struck by her beautiful eyes, pure, candid, and frank, like those of a child. The rest of her face, said he, hadbecome somewhat spoilt; her complexion was losing its clearness, herfeatures had grown less delicate, and her general appearance was that ofan ordinary servant-girl, short, puny, and unobtrusive. Her piety wasstill keen, but she had not seemed to him to be the ecstatical, excitablecreature that many might have supposed; indeed, she appeared to have arather positive mind which did not indulge in flights of fancy; and sheinvariably had some little piece of needlework, some knitting, someembroidery in her hand. In a word, she appeared to have entered thecommon path, and in nowise resembled the intensely passionate femaleworshippers of the Christ. She had no further visions, and never of herown accord spoke of the eighteen apparitions which had decided her life. To learn anything it was necessary to interrogate her, to address precisequestions to her. These she would briefly answer, and then seek to changethe conversation, as though she did not like to talk of such mysteriousthings. If wishing to probe the matter further, you asked her the natureof the three secrets which the Virgin had confided to her, she wouldremain silent, simply averting her eyes. And it was impossible to makeher contradict herself; the particulars she gave invariably agreed withher original narrative, and, indeed, she always seemed to repeat the samewords, with the same inflections of the voice. 

"I had her in hand during the whole of one afternoon, " continued DoctorChassaigne, "and there was not the variation of a syllable in her story. It was disconcerting. Still, I am prepared to swear that she was notlying, that she never lied, that she was altogether incapable offalsehood. "

Pierre boldly ventured to discuss this point. "But won't you admit, doctor, the possibility of some disorder of the will?" he asked. "Has itnot been proved, is it not admitted nowadays, that when certaindegenerate creatures with childish minds fall into an hallucination, afancy of some kind or other, they are often unable to free themselvesfrom it, especially when they remain in the same environment in which thephenomenon occurred? Cloistered, living alone with her fixed idea, Bernadette, naturally enough, obstinately clung to it. "

The doctor's faint smile returned to his lips, and vaguely waving hisarm, he replied: "Ah! my child, you ask me too much. You know very wellthat I am now only a poor old man, who prides himself but little on hisscience, and no longer claims to be able to explain anything. However, Ido of course know of that famous medical-school example of the young girlwho allowed herself to waste away with hunger at home, because sheimagined that she was suffering from a serious complaint of the digestiveorgans, but who nevertheless began to eat when she was taken elsewhere. However, that is but one circumstance, and there are so manycontradictory cases. "

For a moment they became silent, and only the rhythmical sound of theirsteps was heard along the road. Then the doctor resumed: "Moreover, it isquite true that Bernadette shunned the world, and was only happy in hersolitary corner. She was never known to have a single intimate femalefriend, any particular human love for anybody. She was kind and gentletowards all, but it was only for children that she showed any livelyaffection. And as, after all, the medical man is not quite dead withinme, I will confess to you that I have sometimes wondered if she remainedas pure in mind, as, most undoubtedly, she did remain in body. However, Ithink it quite possible, given her sluggish, poor-blooded temperament, not to speak of the innocent sphere in which she grew up, first Bartres, and then the convent. Still, a doubt came to me when I heard of thetender interest which she took in the orphan asylum built by the Sistersof Nevers, farther along this very road. Poor little girls are receivedinto it, and shielded from the perils of the highways. And if Bernadettewished it to be extremely large, so as to lodge all the little lambs indanger, was it not because she herself remembered having roamed the roadswith bare feet, and still trembled at the idea of what might have becomeof her but for the help of the Blessed Virgin?"

Then, resuming his narrative, he went on telling Pierre of the crowdsthat flocked to see Bernadette and pay her reverence in her asylum atLourdes. This had proved a source of considerable fatigue to her. Not aday went by without a stream of visitors appearing before her. They camefrom all parts of France, some even from abroad; and it soon provednecessary to refuse the applications of those who were actuated by mereinquisitiveness, and to grant admittance only to the genuine believers, the members of the clergy, and the people of mark on whom the doors couldnot well have been shut. A Sister was always present to protectBernadette against the excessive indiscretion of some of her visitors, for questions literally rained upon her, and she often grew faint throughhaving to repeat her story so many times. Ladies of high position fell ontheir knees, kissed her gown, and would have liked to carry a piece of itaway as a relic. She also had to defend her chaplet, which in theirexcitement they all begged her to sell to them for a fabulous amount. Oneday a certain marchioness endeavoured to secure it by giving her anotherone which she had brought with her--a chaplet with a golden cross andbeads of real pearls. Many hoped that she would consent to work a miraclein their presence; children were brought to her in order that she mightlay her hands upon them; she was also consulted in cases of illness, andattempts were made to purchase her influence with the Virgin. Large sumswere offered to her. At the slightest sign, the slightest expression of adesire to be a queen, decked with jewels and crowned with gold, she wouldhave been overwhelmed with regal presents. And while the humble remainedon their knees on her threshold, the great ones of the earth pressedround her, and would have counted it a glory to act as her escort. It waseven related that one among them, the handsomest and wealthiest ofprinces, came one clear sunny April day to ask her hand in marriage. 

"But what always struck and displeased me, " said Pierre, "was herdeparture from Lourdes when she was two-and-twenty, her suddendisappearance and sequestration in the convent of Saint Gildard atNevers, whence she never emerged. Didn't that give a semblance of truthto those spurious rumours of insanity which were circulated? Didn't ithelp people to suppose that she was being shut up, whisked away for fearof some indiscretion on her part, some naive remark or other which mighthave revealed the secret of a prolonged fraud? Indeed, to speak plainly, I will confess to you that for my own part I still believe that she wasspirited away. "

Doctor Chassaigne gently shook his head. "No, no, " said he, "there was nostory prepared in advance in this affair, no big melodrama secretlystaged and afterwards performed by more or less unconscious actors. Thedevelopments came of themselves, by the sole force of circumstances; andthey were always very intricate, very difficult to analyse. Moreover, itis certain that it was Bernadette herself who wished to leave Lourdes. Those incessant visits wearied her, she felt ill at ease amidst all thatnoisy worship. All that _she_ desired was a dim nook where she might livein peace, and so fierce was she at times in her disinterestedness, thatwhen money was handed to her, even with the pious intent of having a masssaid or a taper burnt, she would fling it upon the floor. She neveraccepted anything for herself or for her family, which remained inpoverty. And with such pride as she possessed, such natural simplicity, such a desire to remain in the background, one can very well understandthat she should have wished to disappear and cloister herself in somelonely spot so as to prepare herself to make a good death. Her work wasaccomplished; she had initiated this great movement scarcely knowing howor why; and she could really be of no further utility. Others were aboutto conduct matters to an issue and insure the triumph of the Grotto. "

"Let us admit, then, that she went off of her own accord, " said Pierre;"still, what a relief it must have been for the people you speak of, whothenceforth became the real masters, whilst millions of money wereraining down on Lourdes from the whole world. "

"Oh! certainly; I don't pretend that any attempt was made to detain herhere!" exclaimed the doctor. "Frankly, I even believe that she was insome degree urged into the course she took. She ended by becomingsomewhat of an incumbrance. It was not that any annoying revelations werefeared from her; but remember that with her extreme timidity and frequentillnesses she was scarcely ornamental. Besides, however small the roomwhich she took up at Lourdes, however obedient she showed herself, shewas none the less a power, and attracted the multitude, which made her, so to say, a competitor of the Grotto. For the Grotto to remain alone, resplendent in its glory, it was advisable that Bernadette shouldwithdraw into the background, become as it were a simple legend. Such, indeed, must have been the reasons which induced Monseigneur Laurence, the Bishop of Tarbes, to hasten her departure. The only mistake that wasmade was in saying that it was a question of screening her from theenterprises of the world, as though it were feared that she might fallinto the sin of pride, by growing vain of the saintly fame with which thewhole of Christendom re-echoed. And this was doing her a grave injury, for she was as incapable of pride as she was of falsehood. Never, indeed, was there a more candid or more modest child. "

The doctor was growing impassioned, excited. But all at once he becamecalm again, and a pale smile returned to his lips. "'Tis true, " said he, "I love her; the more I have thought of her, the more have I learned tolove her. But you must not think, Pierre, that I am completely brutifiedby belief. If I nowadays acknowledge the existence of an unseen power, ifI feel a need of believing in another, better, and more just life, Inevertheless know right well that there are men remaining in this worldof ours; and at times, even when they wear the cowl or the cassock, thework they do is vile. "

There came another interval of silence. Each was continuing his dreamapart from the other. Then the doctor resumed: "I will tell you of afancy which has often haunted me. Suppose we admit that Bernadette wasnot the shy, simple child we knew her to be; let us endow her with aspirit of intrigue and domination, transform her into a conqueress, aleader of nations, and try to picture what, in that case, would havehappened. It is evident that the Grotto would be hers, the Basilica also. We should see her lording it at all the ceremonies, under a dais, with agold mitre on her head. She would distribute the miracles; with asovereign gesture her little hand would lead the multitudes to heaven. All the lustre and glory would come from her, she being the saint, thechosen one, the only one that had been privileged to see the Divinityface to face. And indeed nothing would seem more just, for she wouldtriumph after toiling, enjoy the fruit of her labour in all glory. Butyou see, as it happens, she is defrauded, robbed. The marvellous harvestssown by her are reaped by others. During the twelve years which she livedat Saint Gildard, kneeling in the gloom, Lourdes was full of victors, priests in golden vestments chanting thanksgivings, and blessing churchesand monuments erected at a cost of millions. She alone did not behold thetriumph of the new faith, whose author she had been. You say that shedreamt it all. Well, at all events, what a beautiful dream it was, adream which has stirred the whole world, and from which she, dear girl, never awakened!"

They halted and sat down for a moment on a rock beside the road, beforereturning to the town. In front of them the Gave, deep at this point ofits course, was rolling blue waters tinged with dark moire-likereflections, whilst, farther on, rushing hurriedly over a bed of largestones, the stream became so much foam, a white froth, light like snow. Amidst the gold raining from the sun, a fresh breeze came down from themountains. 

Whilst listening to that story of how Bernadette had been exploited andsuppressed, Pierre had simply found in it all a fresh motive for revolt;and, with his eyes fixed on the ground, he began to think of theinjustice of nature, of that law which wills that the strong shoulddevour the weak. Then, all at once raising his head, he inquired: "Anddid you also know Abbe Peyramale?"

The doctor's eyes brightened once more, and he eagerly replied:"Certainly I did! He was an upright, energetic man, a saint, an apostle. He and Bernadette were the great makers of Our Lady of Lourdes. Like her, he endured frightful sufferings, and, like her, he died from them. Thosewho do not know his story can know nothing, understand nothing, of thedrama enacted here. "

Thereupon he related that story at length. Abbe Peyramale was the parishpriest of Lourdes at the time of the apparitions. A native of the region, tall, broad-shouldered, with a powerful leonine head, he was extremelyintelligent, very honest and goodhearted, though at times violent anddomineering. He seemed built for combat. An enemy of all piousexaggerations, discharging the duties of his ministry in a broad, liberalspirit, he regarded the apparitions with distrust when he first heard ofthem, refused to believe in Bernadette's stories, questioned her, anddemanded proofs. It was only at a later stage, when the blast of faithbecame irresistible, upsetting the most rebellious minds and masteringthe multitude, that he ended, in his turn, by bowing his head; and whenhe was finally conquered, it was more particularly by his love for thehumble and the oppressed which he could not restrain when he beheldBernadette threatened with imprisonment. The civil authorities werepersecuting one of his flock; at this his shepherd's heart awoke, and, inher defence, he gave full reign to his ardent passion for justice. Moreover, the charm which the child diffused had worked upon him; he felther to be so candid, so truthful, that he began to place a blind faith inher and love her even as everybody else loved her. Moreover, why shouldhe have curtly dismissed all questions of miracles, when miracles aboundin the pages of Holy Writ? It was not for a minister of religion, whatever his prudence, to set himself up as a sceptic when entirepopulations were falling on their knees and the Church seemed to be onthe eve of another great triumph. Then, too, he had the nature of one wholeads men, who stirs up crowds, who builds, and in this affair he hadreally found his vocation, the vast field in which he might exercise hisenergy, the great cause to which he might wholly devote himself with allhis passionate ardour and determination to succeed. 

From that moment, then, Abbe Peyramale had but one thought, to executethe orders which the Virgin had commissioned Bernadette to transmit tohim. He caused improvements to be carried out at the Grotto. A railingwas placed in front of it; pipes were laid for the conveyance of thewater from the source, and a variety of work was accomplished in order toclear the approaches. However, the Virgin had particularly requested thata chapel might be built; and he wished to have a church, quite atriumphal Basilica. He pictured everything on a grand scale, and, full ofconfidence in the enthusiastic help of Christendom, he worried thearchitects, requiring them to design real palaces worthy of the Queen ofHeaven. As a matter of fact, offerings already abounded, gold poured fromthe most distant dioceses, a rain of gold destined to increase and neverend. Then came his happy years: he was to be met among the workmen at allhours, instilling activity into them like the jovial, good-natured fellowhe was, constantly on the point of taking a pick or trowel in handhimself, such was his eagerness to behold the realisation of his dream. But days of trial were in store for him: he fell ill, and lay in dangerof death on the fourth of April, 1864, when the first procession startedfrom his parish church to the Grotto, a procession of sixty thousandpilgrims, which wound along the streets amidst an immense concourse ofspectators. 

On the day when Abbe Peyramale rose from his bed, saved, a first time, from death, he found himself despoiled. To second him in his heavy task, Monseigneur Laurence, the Bishop, had already given him as assistant aformer episcopal secretary, Father Sempe, whom he had appointed warden ofthe Missionaries of Geraison, a community founded by himself. FatherSempe was a sly, spare little man, to all appearance most disinterestedand humble, but in reality consumed by all the thirst of ambition. At theoutset he kept in his place, serving the parish priest of Lourdes like afaithful subordinate, attending to matters of all kinds in order tolighten the other's work, and acquiring information on every possiblesubject in his desire to render himself indispensable. He must soon haverealised what a rich farm the Grotto was destined to become, and what acolossal revenue might be derived from it, if only a little skill wereexercised. And thenceforth he no longer stirred from the episcopalresidence, but ended by acquiring great influence over the calm, practical Bishop, who was in great need of money for the charities of hisdiocese. And thus it was that during Abbe Peyramale's illness FatherSempe succeeded in effecting a separation between the parish of Lourdesand the domain of the Grotto, which last he was commissioned to manage atthe head of a few Fathers of the Immaculate Conception, over whom theBishop placed him as Father Superior. 

The struggle soon began, one of those covert, desperate, mortal struggleswhich are waged under the cloak of ecclesiastical discipline. There was apretext for rupture all ready, a field of battle on which the longerpurse would necessarily end by conquering. It was proposed to build a newparish church, larger and more worthy of Lourdes than the old one alreadyin existence, which was admitted to have become too small since thefaithful had been flocking into the town in larger and larger numbers. Moreover, it was an old idea of Abbe Peyramale, who desired to carry outthe Virgin's orders with all possible precision. Speaking of the Grotto, she had said that people would go "thither in procession"; and the Abbehad always seen the pilgrims start in procession from the town, whitherthey were expected to return in the same fashion, as indeed had been thepractice on the first occasions after the apparitions. A central point, arallying spot, was therefore required, and the Abbe's dream was to erecta magnificent church, a cathedral of gigantic proportions, which wouldaccommodate a vast multitude. Builder as he was by temperament, impassioned artisan working for the glory of Heaven, he already picturedthis cathedral springing from the soil, and rearing its clanging belfryin the sunlight. And it was also his own house that he wished to build, the edifice which would be his act of faith and adoration, the templewhere he would be the pontiff, and triumph in company with the sweetmemory of Bernadette, in full view of the spot of which both he and shehad been so cruelly dispossessed. Naturally enough, bitterly as he feltthat act of spoliation, the building of this new parish church was insome degree his revenge, his share of all the glory, besides being a taskwhich would enable him to utilise both his militant activity and thefever that had been consuming him ever since he had ceased going to theGrotto, by reason of his soreness of heart. 

At the outset of the new enterprise there was again a flash ofenthusiasm. At the prospect of seeing all the life and all the money flowinto the new city which was springing from the ground around theBasilica, the old town, which felt itself thrust upon one side, espousedthe cause of its priest. The municipal council voted a sum of one hundredthousand francs, which, unfortunately, was not to be paid until the newchurch should be roofed in. Abbe Peyramale had already accepted the plansof his architect--plans which, he had insisted, should be on a grandscale--and had also treated with a contractor of Chartres, who engaged tocomplete the church in three or four years if the promised supplies offunds should be regularly forthcoming. The Abbe believed that offeringswould assuredly continue raining down from all parts, and so he launchedinto this big enterprise without any anxiety, overflowing with a carelessbravery, and fully expecting that Heaven would not abandon him on theroad. He even fancied that he could rely upon the support of MonseigneurJourdan, who had now succeeded Monseigneur Laurence as Bishop of Tarbes, for this prelate, after blessing the foundation-stone of the new church, had delivered an address in which he admitted that the enterprise wasnecessary and meritorious. And it seemed, too, as though Father Sempe, with his customary humility, had bowed to the inevitable and acceptedthis vexatious competition, which would compel him to relinquish a shareof the plunder; for he now pretended to devote himself entirely to themanagement of the Grotto, and even allowed a collection-box forcontributions to the building of the new parish church to be placedinside the Basilica. 

Then, however, the secret, rageful struggle began afresh. Abbe Peyramale, who was a wretched manager, exulted on seeing his new church so rapidlytake shape. The work was being carried on at a fast pace, and he troubledabout nothing else, being still under the delusion that the BlessedVirgin would find whatever money might be needed. Thus he was quitestupefied when he at last perceived that the offerings were falling off, that the money of the faithful no longer reached him, as though, indeed, someone had secretly diverted its flow. And eventually the day came whenhe was unable to make the stipulated payments. In all this there had beenso much skilfully combined strangulation, of which he only became awarelater on. Father Sempe, however, had once more prevailed on the Bishop togrant his favour exclusively to the Grotto. There was even a talk of someconfidential circulars distributed through the various dioceses, so thatthe many sums of money offered by the faithful should no longer be sentto the parish. The voracious, insatiable Grotto was bent upon securingeverything, and to such a point were things carried that five hundredfranc notes slipped into the collection-box at the Basilica were keptback; the box was rifled and the parish robbed. Abbe Peyramale, however, in his passion for the rising church, his child, continued fighting mostdesperately, ready if need were to give his blood. He had at firsttreated with the contractor in the name of the vestry; then, when he wasat a loss how to pay, he treated in his own name. His life was bound upin the enterprise, he wore himself out in the heroic efforts which hemade. Of the four hundred thousand francs that he had promised, he hadonly been able to pay two hundred thousand; and the municipal councilstill obstinately refused to hand over the hundred thousand francs whichit had voted, until the new church should be covered in. This was actingagainst the town's real interests. However, it was said that Father Sempewas trying to bring influence to bear on the contractor. And, all atonce, the work was stopped. 

From that moment the death agony began. Wounded in the heart, the AbbePeyramale, the broad-shouldered mountaineer with the leonine face, staggered and fell like an oak struck down by a thunderbolt. He took tohis bed, and never left it alive. Strange stories circulated: it was saidthat Father Sempe had sought to secure admission to the parsonage undersome pious pretext, but in reality to see if his much-dreaded adversarywere really mortally stricken; and it was added, that it had beennecessary to drive him from the sick-room, where his presence was anoutrageous scandal. Then, when the unhappy priest, vanquished and steepedin bitterness, was dead, Father Sempe was seen triumphing at the funeral, from which the others had not dared to keep him away. It was affirmedthat he openly displayed his abominable delight, that his face wasradiant that day with the joy of victory. He was at last rid of the onlyman who had been an obstacle to his designs, whose legitimate authorityhe had feared. He would no longer be forced to share anything withanybody now that both the founders of Our Lady of Lourdes had beensuppressed--Bernadette placed in a convent, and Abbe Peyramale loweredinto the ground. The Grotto was now his own property, the alms would cometo him alone, and he could do what he pleased with the eight hundredthousand francs* or so which were at his disposal every year. He wouldcomplete the gigantic works destined to make the Basilica aself-supporting centre, and assist in embellishing the new town in orderto increase the isolation of the old one and seclude it behind its rock, like an insignificant parish submerged beneath the splendour of itsall-powerful neighbour. All the money, all the sovereignty, would be his;he henceforth would reign. 

 * About 145, 000 dollars. 

However, although the works had been stopped, and the new parish churchwas slumbering inside its wooden fence, it was none the less more thanhalf built. The vaulted aisles were already erected. And the imperfectpile remained there like a threat, for the town might some day attempt tofinish it. Like Abbe Peyramale, therefore, it must be killed for good, turned into an irreparable ruin. The secret labour therefore continued, awork of refined cruelty and slow destruction. To begin with, the newparish priest, a simple-minded creature, was cowed to such a point thathe no longer opened the envelopes containing remittances for the parish;all the registered letters were at once taken to the Fathers. Then thesite selected for the new parish church was criticised, and the diocesanarchitect was induced to draw up a report stating that the old church wasstill in good condition and of ample size for the requirements of thecommunity. Moreover, influence was brought to bear on the Bishop, andrepresentations were made to him respecting the annoying features of thepecuniary difficulties which had arisen with the contractor. With alittle imagination poor Peyramale was transformed into a violent, obstinate madman, through whose undisciplined zeal the Church had almostbeen compromised. And, at last, the Bishop, forgetting that he himselfhad blessed the foundation-stone, issued a pastoral letter laying theunfinished church under interdict, and prohibiting all religious servicesin it. This was the supreme blow. Endless lawsuits had already begun; thecontractor, who had only received two hundred thousand francs for thefive hundred thousand francs' worth of work which had been executed, hadtaken proceedings against Abbe Peyramale's heir-at-law, the vestry, andthe town, for the last still refused to pay over the amount which it hadvoted. At first the Prefect's Council declared itself incompetent to dealwith the case, and when it was sent back to it by the Council of State, it rendered a judgment by which the town was condemned to pay the hundredthousand francs and the heir-at-law to finish the church. At the sametime the vestry was put out of court. However, there was a fresh appealto the Council of State, which quashed this judgment, and condemned thevestry, and, in default, the heir-at-law, to pay the contractor. Neitherparty being solvent, matters remained in this position. The lawsuits hadlasted fifteen years. The town had now resignedly paid over the hundredthousand francs, and only two hundred thousand remained owing to thecontractor. However, the costs and the accumulated interest had soincreased the amount of indebtedness that it had risen to six hundredthousand francs; and as, on the other hand, it was estimated that fourhundred thousand francs would be required to finish the church, a millionwas needed to save this young ruin from certain destruction. The Fathersof the Grotto were thenceforth able to sleep in peace; they hadassassinated the poor church; it was as dead as Abbe Peyramale himself. 

The bells of the Basilica rang out triumphantly, and Father Sempe reignedas a victor at the conclusion of that great struggle, that dagger warfarein which not only a man but stones also had been done to death in theshrouding gloom of intriguing sacristies. And old Lourdes, obstinate andunintelligent, paid a hard penalty for its mistake in not giving moresupport to its minister, who had died struggling, killed by his love forhis parish, for now the new town did not cease to grow and prosper at theexpense of the old one. All the wealth flowed to the former: the Fathersof the Grotto coined money, financed hotels and candle shops, and soldthe water of the source, although a clause of their agreement with themunicipality expressly prohibited them from carrying on any commercialpursuits. 

The whole region began to rot and fester; the triumph of the Grotto hadbrought about such a passion for lucre, such a burning, feverish desireto possess and enjoy, that extraordinary perversion set in, growing worseand worse each day, and changing Bernadette's peaceful Bethlehem into aperfect Sodom or Gomorrah. Father Sempe had ensured the triumph of hisDivinity by spreading human abominations all around and wreckingthousands of souls. Gigantic buildings rose from the ground, five or sixmillions of francs had already been expended, everything being sacrificedto the stern determination to leave the poor parish out in the cold andkeep the entire plunder for self and friends. Those costly, colossalgradient ways had only been erected in order to avoid compliance with theVirgin's express desire that the faithful should come to the Grotto inprocession. For to go down from the Basilica by the incline on the left, and climb up to it again by the incline on the right, could certainly notbe called going to the Grotto in procession: it was simply so muchrevolving in a circle. However, the Fathers cared little about that; theyhad succeeded in compelling people to start from their premises andreturn to them, in order that they might be the sole proprietors of theaffair, the opulent farmers who garnered the whole harvest. AbbePeyramale lay buried in the crypt of his unfinished, ruined church, andBernadette, who had long since dragged out her life of suffering in thedepths of a convent far away, was now likewise sleeping the eternal sleepunder a flagstone in a chapel. 

Deep silence fell when Doctor Chassaigne had finished this longnarrative. Then, with a painful effort, he rose to his feet again: "Itwill soon be ten o'clock, my dear child, " said he, "and I want you totake a little rest. Let us go back. "

Pierre followed him without speaking; and they retraced their stepstoward the town at a more rapid pace. 

"Ah! yes, " resumed the doctor, "there were great iniquities and greatsufferings in it all. But what else could you expect? Man spoils andcorrupts the most beautiful things. And you cannot yet understand all thewoeful sadness of the things of which I have been talking to you. Youmust see them, lay your hand on them. Would you like me to show youBernadette's room and Abbe Peyramale's unfinished church this evening?"

"Yes, I should indeed, " replied Pierre. 

"Well, I will meet you in front of the Basilica after the four-o'clockprocession, and you can come with me. "

Then they spoke no further, each becoming absorbed in his reverie oncemore. 

The Gave, now upon their right hand, was flowing through a deep gorge, akind of cleft into which it plunged, vanishing from sight among thebushes. But at intervals a clear stretch of it, looking like unburnishedsilver, would appear to view; and, farther on, after a sudden turn in theroad, they found it flowing in increased volume across a plain, where itspread at times into glassy sheets which must often have changed theirbeds, for the gravelly soil was ravined on all sides. The sun was nowbecoming very hot, and was already high in the heavens, whose limpidazure assumed a deeper tinge above the vast circle of mountains. 

And it was at this turn of the road that Lourdes, still some distanceaway, reappeared to the eyes of Pierre and Doctor Chassaigne. In thesplendid morning atmosphere, amid a flying dust of gold and purple rays, the town shone whitely on the horizon, its houses and monuments becomingmore and more distinct at each step which brought them nearer. And thedoctor, still silent, at last waved his arm with a broad, mournfulgesture in order to call his companion's attention to this growing town, as though to a proof of all that he had been telling him. There, indeed, rising up in the dazzling daylight, was the evidence which confirmed hiswords. 

The flare of the Grotto, fainter now that the sun was shining, couldalready be espied amidst the greenery. And soon afterwards the giganticmonumental works spread out: the quay with its freestone parapet skirtingthe Gave, whose course had been diverted; the new bridge connecting thenew gardens with the recently opened boulevard; the colossal gradientways, the massive church of the Rosary, and, finally, the slim, taperingBasilica, rising above all else with graceful pride. Of the new townspread all around the monuments, the wealthy city which had sprung, asthough by enchantment, from the ancient impoverished soil, the greatconvents and the great hotels, you could, at this distance, merelydistinguish a swarming of white facades and a scintillation of newslates; whilst, in confusion, far away, beyond the rocky mass on whichthe crumbling castle walls were profiled against the sky, appeared thehumble roofs of the old town, a jumble of little time-worn roofs, pressing timorously against one another. And as a background to thisvision of the life of yesterday and to-day, the little and the big Gersrose up beneath the splendour of the everlasting sun, and barred thehorizon with their bare slopes, which the oblique rays were tingeing withstreaks of pink and yellow. 

Doctor Chassaigne insisted on accompanying Pierre to the Hotel of theApparitions, and only parted from him at its door, after reminding him oftheir appointment for the afternoon. It was not yet eleven o'clock. Pierre, whom fatigue had suddenly mastered, forced himself to eat beforegoing to bed, for he realised that want of food was one of the chiefcauses of the weakness which had come over him. He fortunately found avacant seat at the _table d'hote_, and made some kind of a _dejeuner_, half asleep all the time, and scarcely knowing what was served to him. Then he went up-stairs and flung himself on his bed, after taking care totell the servant to awake him at three o'clock. 

However, on lying down, the fever that consumed him at first preventedhim from closing his eyes. A pair of gloves, forgotten in the next room, had reminded him of M. De Guersaint, who had left for Gavarnie beforedaybreak, and would only return in the evening. What a delightful giftwas thoughtlessness, thought Pierre. For his own part, with his limbsworn out by weariness and his mind distracted, he was sad unto death. Everything seemed to conspire against his willing desire to regain thefaith of his childhood. The tale of Abbe Peyramale's tragic adventureshad simply aggravated the feeling of revolt which the story ofBernadette, chosen and martyred, had implanted in his breast. And thus heasked himself whether his search after the truth, instead of restoringhis faith, would not rather lead him to yet greater hatred of ignoranceand credulity, and to the bitter conviction that man is indeed all alonein the world, with naught to guide him save his reason. 

At last he fell asleep, but visions continued hovering around him in hispainful slumber. He beheld Lourdes, contaminated by Mammon, turned into aspot of abomination and perdition, transformed into a huge bazaar, whereeverything was sold, masses and souls alike! He beheld also AbbePeyramale, dead and slumbering under the ruins of his church, among thenettles which ingratitude had sown there. And he only grew calm again, only tasted the delights of forgetfulness when a last pale, woeful visionhad faded from his gaze--a vision of Bernadette upon her knees in agloomy corner at Nevers, dreaming of her far-away work, which she wasnever, never to behold. 

THE FOURTH DAY

I. THE BITTERNESS OP DEATH

AT the Hospital of Our Lady of Dolours, that morning, Marie remainedseated on her bed, propped up by pillows. Having spent the whole night atthe Grotto, she had refused to let them take her back there. And, asMadame de Jonquiere approached her, to raise one of the pillows which wasslipping from its place, she asked: "What day is it, madame?"

"Monday, my dear child. "

"Ah! true. One so soon loses count of time. And, besides, I am so happy!It is to-day that the Blessed Virgin will cure me!"

She smiled divinely, with the air of a day-dreamer, her eyes gazing intovacancy, her thoughts so far away, so absorbed in her one fixed idea, that she beheld nothing save the certainty of her hope. Round about her, the Sainte-Honorine Ward was now quite deserted, all the patients, excepting Madame Vetu, who lay at the last extremity in the next bed, having already started for the Grotto. But Marie did not even notice herneighbour; she was delighted with the sudden stillness which had fallen. One of the windows overlooking the courtyard had been opened, and theglorious morning sunshine entered in one broad beam, whose golden dustwas dancing over her bed and streaming upon her pale hands. It was indeedpleasant to find this room, so dismal at nighttime with its many beds ofsickness, its unhealthy atmosphere, and its nightmare groans, thussuddenly filled with sunlight, purified by the morning air, and wrappedin such delicious silence! "Why don't you try to sleep a little?"maternally inquired Madame de Jonquiere. "You must be quite worn out byyour vigil. "

Marie, who felt so light and cheerful that she no longer experienced anypain, seemed surprised. 

"But I am not at all tired, and I don't feel a bit sleepy. Go to sleep?Oh! no, that would be too sad. I should no longer know that I was goingto be cured!"

At this the superintendent laughed. "Then why didn't you let them takeyou to the Grotto?" she asked. "You won't know what to do with yourselfall alone here. "

"I am not alone, madame, I am with her, " replied Marie; and thereupon, her vision returning to her, she clasped her hands in ecstasy. "Lastnight, you know, I saw her bend her head towards me and smile. I quiteunderstood her, I could hear her voice, although she never opened herlips. When the Blessed Sacrament passes at four o'clock I shall becured. "

Madame de Jonquiere tried to calm her, feeling rather anxious at thespecies of somnambulism in which she beheld her. However, the sick girlwent on: "No, no, I am no worse, I am waiting. Only, you must surely see, madame, that there is no need for me to go to the Grotto this morning, since the appointment which she gave me is for four o'clock. " And then thegirl added in a lower tone: "Pierre will come for me at half-past three. At four o'clock I shall be cured. "

The sunbeam slowly made its way up her bare arms, which were now almosttransparent, so wasted had they become through illness; whilst herglorious fair hair, which had fallen over her shoulders, seemed like thevery effulgence of the great luminary enveloping her. The trill of a birdcame in from the courtyard, and quite enlivened the tremulous silence ofthe ward. Some child who could not be seen must also have been playingclose by, for now and again a soft laugh could be heard ascending in thewarm air which was so delightfully calm. 

"Well, " said Madame de Jonquiere by way of conclusion, "don't sleep then, as you don't wish to. But keep quite quiet, and it will rest you all thesame. "

Meantime Madame Vetu was expiring in the adjoining bed. They had notdared to take her to the Grotto, for fear they should see her die on theway. For some little time she had lain there with her eyes closed; andSister Hyacinthe, who was watching, had beckoned to Madame Desagneaux inorder to acquaint her with the bad opinion she had formed of the case. Both of them were now leaning over the dying woman, observing her withincreasing anxiety. The mask upon her face had turned more yellow thanever, and now looked like a coating of mud; her eyes too had become moresunken, her lips seemed to have grown thinner, and the death rattle hadbegun, a slow, pestilential wheezing, polluted by the cancer which wasfinishing its destructive work. All at once she raised her eyelids, andwas seized with fear on beholding those two faces bent over her own. Could her death be near, that they should thus be gazing at her? Immensesadness showed itself in her eyes, a despairing regret of life. It wasnot a vehement revolt, for she no longer had the strength to struggle;but what a frightful fate it was to have left her shop, her surroundings, and her husband, merely to come and die so far away; to have braved theabominable torture of such a journey, to have prayed both day and night, and then, instead of having her prayer granted, to die when othersrecovered!

However, she could do no more than murmur "Oh! how I suffer; oh! how Isuffer. Do something, anything, to relieve this pain, I beseech you. "

Little Madame Desagneaux, with her pretty milk-white face showing amidsther mass of fair, frizzy hair, was quite upset. She was not used todeathbed scenes, she would have given half her heart, as she expressedit, to see that poor woman recover. And she rose up and began to questionSister Hyacinthe, who was also in tears but already resigned, knowing asshe did that salvation was assured when one died well. Could nothingreally be done, however? Could not something be tried to ease the dyingwoman? Abbe Judaine had come and administered the last sacrament to her acouple of hours earlier that very morning. She now only had Heaven tolook to; it was her only hope, for she had long since given up expectingaid from the skill of man. 

"No, no! we must do something, " exclaimed Madame Desagneaux. Andthereupon she went and fetched Madame de Jonquiere from beside Marie'sbed. "Look how this poor creature is suffering, madame!" she exclaimed. "Sister Hyacinthe says that she can only last a few hours longer. But wecannot leave her moaning like this. There are things which give relief. Why not call that young doctor who is here?"

"Of course we will, " replied the superintendent. "We will send for him atonce. "

They seldom thought of the doctor in the wards. It only occurred to theladies to send for him when a case was at its very worst, when one oftheir patients was howling with pain. Sister Hyacinthe, who herself feltsurprised at not having thought of Ferrand, whom she believed to be in anadjoining room, inquired if she should fetch him. 

"Certainly, " was the reply. "Bring him as quickly as possible. "

When the Sister had gone off, Madame de Jonquiere made Madame Desagneauxhelp her in slightly raising the dying woman's head, thinking that thismight relieve her. The two ladies happened to be alone there thatmorning, all the other lady-hospitallers having gone to their devotionsor their private affairs. However, from the end of the large desertedward, where, amidst the warm quiver of the sunlight such sweettranquillity prevailed, there still came at intervals the light laughterof the unseen child. 

"Can it be Sophie who is making such a noise?" suddenly asked thelady-superintendent, whose nerves were somewhat upset by all the worry ofthe death which she foresaw. Then quickly walking to the end of the ward, she found that it was indeed Sophie Couteau--the young girl somiraculously healed the previous year--who, seated on the floor behind abed, had been amusing herself, despite her fourteen years, in making adoll out of a few rags. She was now talking to it, so happy, so absorbedin her play, that she laughed quite heartily. "Hold yourself up, mademoiselle, " said she. "Dance the polka, that I may see how you can doit! One! two! dance, turn, kiss the one you like best!"

Madame de Jonquiere, however, was now coming up. "Little girl, " she said, "we have one of our patients here in great pain, and not expected torecover. You must not laugh so loud. "

"Ah! madame, I didn't know, " replied Sophie, rising up, and becomingquite serious, although still holding the doll in her hand. "Is she goingto die, madame?"

"I fear so, my poor child. "

Thereupon Sophie became quite silent. She followed the superintendent, and seated herself on an adjoining bed; whence, without the slightestsign of fear, but with her large eyes burning with curiosity, she beganto watch Madame Vetu's death agony. In her nervous state, MadameDesagneaux was growing impatient at the delay in the doctor's arrival;whilst Marie, still enraptured, and resplendent in the sunlight, seemedunconscious of what was taking place about her, wrapt as she was indelightful expectancy of the miracle. 

Not having found Ferrand in the small apartment near the linen-room whichhe usually occupied, Sister Hyacinthe was now searching for him all overthe building. During the past two days the young doctor had become morebewildered than ever in that extraordinary hospital, where his assistancewas only sought for the relief of death pangs. The small medicine-chestwhich he had brought with him proved quite useless; for there could be nothought of trying any course of treatment, as the sick were not there tobe doctored, but simply to be cured by the lightning stroke of a miracle. And so he mainly confined himself to administering a few opium pills, inorder to deaden the severer sufferings. He had been fairly amazed whenaccompanying Doctor Bonamy on a round through the wards. It had resolveditself into a mere stroll, the doctor, who had only come out ofcuriosity, taking no interest in the patients, whom he neither questionednor examined. He solely concerned himself with the pretended cases ofcure, stopping opposite those women whom he recognised from having seenthem at his office where the miracles were verified. One of them hadsuffered from three complaints, only one of which the Blessed Virgin hadso far deigned to cure; but great hopes were entertained respecting theother two. Sometimes, when a wretched woman, who the day before hadclaimed to be cured, was questioned with reference to her health, shewould reply that her pains had returned to her. However, this neverdisturbed the doctor's serenity; ever conciliatory, the good man declaredthat Heaven would surely complete what Heaven had begun. Whenever therewas an improvement in health, he would ask if it were not something to bethankful for. And, indeed, his constant saying was: "There's animprovement already; be patient!" What he most dreaded were theimportunities of the lady-superintendents, who all wished to detain himto show him sundry extraordinary cases. Each prided herself on having themost serious illnesses, the most frightful, exceptional cases in herward; so that she was eager to have them medically authenticated, inorder that she might share in the triumph should cure supervene. Onecaught the doctor by the arm and assured him that she felt confident shehad a leper in her charge; another entreated him to come and look at ayoung girl whose back, she said, was covered with fish's scales; whilst athird, whispering in his ear, gave him some terrible details about amarried lady of the best society. He hastened away, however, refusing tosee even one of them, or else simply promising to come back later on whenhe was not so busy. As he himself said, if he listened to all thoseladies, the day would pass in useless consultations. However, he at lastsuddenly stopped opposite one of the miraculously cured inmates, and, beckoning Ferrand to his side, exclaimed: "Ah! now here is an interestingcure!" and Ferrand, utterly bewildered, had to listen to him whilst hedescribed all the features of the illness, which had totally disappearedat the first immersion in the piscina. 

At last Sister Hyacinthe, still wandering about, encountered AbbeJudaine, who informed her that the young doctor had just been summoned tothe Family Ward. It was the fourth time he had gone thither to attend toBrother Isidore, whose sufferings were as acute as ever, and whom hecould only fill with opium. In his agony, the Brother merely asked to besoothed a little, in order that he might gather together sufficientstrength to return to the Grotto in the afternoon, as he had not beenable to do so in the morning. However, his pains increased, and at lasthe swooned away. 

When the Sister entered the ward she found the doctor seated at themissionary's bedside. "Monsieur Ferrand, " she said, "come up-stairs withme to the Sainte-Honorine Ward at once. We have a patient there at thepoint of death. "

He smiled at her; indeed, he never beheld her without feeling brighterand comforted. "I will come with you, Sister, " he replied. "But you'llwait a minute, won't you? I must try to restore this poor man. "

She waited patiently and made herself useful. The Family Ward, situatedon the ground-floor, was also full of sunshine and fresh air whichentered through three large windows opening on to a narrow strip ofgarden. In addition to Brother Isidore, only Monsieur Sabathier hadremained in bed that morning, with the view of obtaining a little rest;whilst Madame Sabathier, taking advantage of the opportunity, had gone topurchase a few medals and pictures, which she intended for presents. Comfortably seated on his bed, his back supported by some pillows, theex-professor was rolling the beads of a chaplet between his fingers. Hewas no longer praying, however, but merely continuing the operation in amechanical manner, his eyes, meantime, fixed upon his neighbour, whoseattack he was following with painful interest. 

"Ah! Sister, " said he to Sister Hyacinthe, who had drawn near, "that poorBrother fills me with admiration. Yesterday I doubted the Blessed Virginfor a moment, seeing that she did not deign to hear me, though I havebeen coming here for seven years past; but the example set me by thatpoor martyr, so resigned amidst his torments, has quite shamed me for mywant of faith. You can have no idea how grievously he suffers, and youshould see him at the Grotto, with his eyes glowing with divine hope! Itis really sublime! I only know of one picture at the Louvre--a picture bysome unknown Italian master--in which there is the head of a monkbeatified by a similar faith. "

The man of intellect, the ex-university-professor, reared on literatureand art, was reappearing in this poor old fellow, whose life had beenblasted, and who had desired to become a free patient, one of the poor ofthe earth, in order to move the pity of Heaven. He again began thinkingof his own case, and with tenacious hopefulness, which the futility ofseven journeys to Lourdes had failed to destroy, he added: "Well, I stillhave this afternoon, since we sha'n't leave till to-morrow. The water iscertainly very cold, but I shall let them dip me a last time; and all themorning I have been praying and asking pardon for my revolt of yesterday. When the Blessed Virgin chooses to cure one of her children, it onlytakes her a second to do so; is that not so, Sister? May her will bedone, and blessed be her name!"

Passing the beads of the chaplet more slowly between his fingers, heagain began saying his "Aves" and "Paters, " whilst his eyelids drooped onhis flabby face, to which a childish expression had been returning duringthe many years that he had been virtually cut off from the world. 

Meantime Ferrand had signalled to Brother Isidore's sister, Marthe, tocome to him. She had been standing at the foot of the bed with her armshanging down beside her, showing the tearless resignation of a poor, narrow-minded girl whilst she watched that dying man whom she worshipped. She was no more than a faithful dog; she had accompanied her brother andspent her scanty savings, without being of any use save to watch himsuffer. Accordingly, when the doctor told her to take the invalid in herarms and raise him up a little, she felt quite happy at being of someservice at last. Her heavy, freckled, mournful face actually grew bright. 

"Hold him, " said the doctor, "whilst I try to give him this. "

When she had raised him, Ferrand, with the aid of a small spoon, succeeded in introducing a few drops of liquid between his set teeth. Almost immediately the sick man opened his eyes and heaved a deep sigh. He was calmer already; the opium was taking effect and dulling the painwhich he felt burning his right side, as though a red-hot iron were beingapplied to it. However, he remained so weak that, when he wished tospeak, it became necessary to place one's ear close to his mouth in orderto catch what he said. With a slight sign he had begged Ferrand to bendover him. "You are the doctor, monsieur, are you not?" he faltered. "Giveme sufficient strength that I may go once more to the Grotto, thisafternoon. I am certain that, if I am able to go, the Blessed Virgin willcure me. "

"Why, of course you shall go, " replied the young man. "Don't you feelever so much better?"

"Oh! ever so much better--no! I know very well what my condition is, because I saw many of our Brothers die, out there in Senegal. When theliver is attacked and the abscess has worked its way outside, it meansthe end. Sweating, fever, and delirium follow. But the Blessed Virginwill touch the sore with her little finger and it will be healed. Oh! Iimplore you all, take me to the Grotto, even if I should be unconscious!"

Sister Hyacinthe had also approached, and leant over him. "Be easy, dearBrother, " said she. "You shall go to the Grotto after _dejeuner_, and wewill all pray for you. "

At length, in despair at these delays and extremely anxious about MadameVetu, she was able to get Ferrand away. Still, the Brother's state filledher with pity; and, as they ascended the stairs, she questioned thedoctor, asking him if there were really no more hope. The other made agesture expressive of absolute hopelessness. It was madness to come toLourdes when one was in such a condition. However, he hastened to add, with a smile: "I beg your pardon, Sister. You know that I am unfortunateenough not to be a believer. "

But she smiled in her turn, like an indulgent friend who tolerates theshortcomings of those she loves. "Oh! that doesn't matter, " she replied. "I know you; you're all the same a good fellow. Besides, we see so manypeople, we go amongst such pagans that it would be difficult to shockus. "

Up above, in the Sainte-Honorine Ward, they found Madame Vetu stillmoaning, a prey to most intolerable suffering. Madame de Jonquiere andMadame Desagneaux had remained beside the bed, their faces turning pale, their hearts distracted by that death-cry, which never ceased. And whenthey consulted Ferrand in a whisper, he merely replied, with a slightshrug of the shoulders, that she was a lost woman, that it was only aquestion of hours, perhaps merely of minutes. All he could do was tostupefy her also, in order to ease the atrocious death agony which heforesaw. She was watching him, still conscious, and also very obedient, never refusing the medicine offered her. Like the others, she now had butone ardent desire--to go back to the Grotto--and she gave expression toit in the stammering accents of a child who fears that its prayer may notbe granted: "To the Grotto--will you? To the Grotto!"

"You shall be taken there by-and-by, I promise you, " said SisterHyacinthe. "But you must be good. Try to sleep a little to gain somestrength. "

The sick woman appeared to sink into a doze, and Madame de Jonquiere thenthought that she might take Madame Desagneaux with her to the other endof the ward to count the linen, a troublesome business, in which theybecame quite bewildered, as some of the articles were missing. MeantimeSophie, seated on the bed opposite Madame Vetu, had not stirred. She hadlaid her doll on her lap, and was waiting for the lady's death, sincethey had told her that she was about to die. Sister Hyacinthe, moreover, had remained beside the dying woman, and, unwilling to waste her time, had taken a needle and cotton to mend some patient's bodice which had ahole in the sleeve. 

"You'll stay a little while with us, won't you?" she asked Ferrand. 

The latter, who was still watching Madame Vetu, replied: "Yes, yes. Shemay go off at any moment. I fear hemorrhage. " Then, catching sight ofMarie on the neighbouring bed, he added in a lower voice: "How is she?Has she experienced any relief?"

"No, not yet. Ah, dear child! we all pray for her very sincerely. She isso young, so sweet, and so sorely afflicted. Just look at her now! Isn'tshe pretty? One might think her a saint amid all this sunshine, with herlarge, ecstatic eyes, and her golden hair shining like an aureola!"

Ferrand watched Marie for a moment with interest. Her absent air, herindifference to all about her, the ardent faith, the internal joy whichso completely absorbed her, surprised him. "She will recover, " hemurmured, as though giving utterance to a prognostic. "She will recover. "

Then he rejoined Sister Hyacinthe, who had seated herself in theembrasure of the lofty window, which stood wide open, admitting the warmair of the courtyard. The sun was now creeping round, and only a narrowgolden ray fell upon her white coif and wimple. Ferrand stood opposite toher, leaning against the window bar and watching her while she sewed. "Doyou know, Sister, " said he, "this journey to Lourdes, which I undertookto oblige a friend, will be one of the few delights of my life. "

She did not understand him, but innocently asked: "Why so?"

"Because I have found you again, because I am here with you, assistingyou in your admirable work. And if you only knew how grateful I am toyou, what sincere affection and reverence I feel for you!"

She raised her head to look him straight in the face, and began jestingwithout the least constraint. She was really delicious, with her purelily-white complexion, her small laughing mouth, and adorable blue eyeswhich ever smiled. And you could realise that she had grown up in allinnocence and devotion, slender and supple, with all the appearance of agirl hardly in her teens. 

"What! You are so fond of me as all that!" she exclaimed. "Why?"

"Why I'm fond of you? Because you are the best, the most consoling, themost sisterly of beings. You are the sweetest memory in my life, thememory I evoke whenever I need to be encouraged and sustained. Do you nolonger remember the month we spent together, in my poor room, when I wasso ill and you so affectionately nursed me?"

"Of course, of course I remember it! Why, I never had so good a patientas you. You took all I offered you; and when I tucked you in, afterchanging your linen, you remained as still as a little child. "

So speaking, she continued looking at him, smiling ingenuously the while. He was very handsome and robust, in the very prime of youth, with arather pronounced nose, superb eyes, and red lips showing under his blackmoustache. But she seemed to be simply pleased at seeing him there beforeher moved almost to tears. 

"Ah! Sister, I should have died if it hadn't been for you, " he said. "Itwas through having you that I was cured. "

Then, as they gazed at one another, with tender gaiety of heart, thememory of that adorable month recurred to them. They no longer heardMadame Vetu's death moans, nor beheld the ward littered with beds, and, with all its disorder, resembling some infirmary improvised after apublic catastrophe. They once more found themselves in a small attic atthe top of a dingy house in old Paris, where air and light only reachedthem through a tiny window opening on to a sea of roofs. And how charmingit was to be alone there together--he who had been prostrated by fever, she who had appeared there like a good angel, who had quietly come fromher convent like a comrade who fears nothing! It was thus that she nursedwomen, children, and men, as chance ordained, feeling perfectly happy solong as she had something to do, some sufferer to relieve. She neverdisplayed any consciousness of her sex; and he, on his side, never seemedto have suspected that she might be a woman, except it were for theextreme softness of her hands, the caressing accents of her voice, thebeneficent gentleness of her manner; and yet all the tender love of amother, all the affection of a sister, radiated from her person. Duringthree weeks, as she had said, she had nursed him like a child, helpinghim in and out of bed, and rendering him every necessary attention, without the slightest embarrassment or repugnance, the holy purity bornof suffering and charity shielding them both the while. They were indeedfar removed from the frailties of life. And when he became convalescent, what a happy existence began, how joyously they laughed, like two oldfriends! She still watched over him, scolding him and gently slapping hisarms when he persisted in keeping them uncovered. He would watch herstanding at the basin, washing him a shirt in order to save him thetrifling expense of employing a laundress. No one ever came up there;they were quite alone, thousands of miles away from the world, delightedwith this solitude, in which their youth displayed such fraternal gaiety. 

"Do you remember, Sister, the morning when I was first able to walkabout?" asked Ferrand. "You helped me to get up, and supported me whilstI awkwardly stumbled about, no longer knowing how to use my legs. We didlaugh so. "

"Yes, yes, you were saved, and I was very pleased. "

"And the day when you brought me some cherries--I can see it all again:myself reclining on my pillows, and you seated at the edge of the bed, with the cherries lying between us in a large piece of white paper. Irefused to touch them unless you ate some with me. And then we took themin turn, one at a time, until the paper was emptied; and they were verynice. "

"Yes, yes, very nice. It was the same with the currant syrup: you wouldonly drink it when I took some also. "

Thereupon they laughed yet louder; these recollections quite delightedthem. But a painful sigh from Madame Vetu brought them back to thepresent. Ferrand leant over and cast a glance at the sick woman, who hadnot stirred. The ward was still full of a quivering peacefulness, whichwas only broken by the clear voice of Madame Desagneaux counting thelinen. Stifling with emotion, the young man resumed in a lower tone: "Ah!Sister, were I to live a hundred years, to know every joy, everypleasure, I should never love another woman as I love you!"

Then Sister Hyacinthe, without, however, showing any confusion, bowed herhead and resumed her sewing. An almost imperceptible blush tinged herlily-white skin with pink. 

"I also love you well, Monsieur Ferrand, " she said, "but you must notmake me vain. I only did for you what I do for so many others. It is mybusiness, you see. And there was really only one pleasant thing about itall, that the Almighty cured you. "

They were now again interrupted. La Grivotte and Elise Rouquet hadreturned from the Grotto before the others. La Grivotte at once squatteddown on her mattress on the floor, at the foot of Madame Vetu's bed, and, taking a piece of bread from her pocket, proceeded to devour it. Ferrand, since the day before, had felt some interest in this consumptive patient, who was traversing such a curious phase of agitation, a prey to aninordinate appetite and a feverish need of motion. For the moment, however, Elise Rouquet's case interested him still more; for it had nowbecome evident that the lupus, the sore which was eating away her face, was showing signs of cure. She had continued bathing her face at themiraculous fountain, and had just come from the Verification Office, where Doctor Bonamy had triumphed. Ferrand, quite surprised, went andexamined the sore, which, although still far from healed, was alreadypaler in colour and slightly desiccated, displaying all the symptoms ofgradual cure. And the case seemed to him so curious, that he resolved tomake some notes upon it for one of his old masters at the medicalcollege, who was studying the nervous origin of certain skin diseases dueto faulty nutrition. 

"Have you felt any pricking sensation?" he asked. 

"Not at all, monsieur, " she replied. "I bathe my face and tell my beadswith my whole soul, and that is all. "

La Grivotte, who was vain and jealous, and ever since the day before hadbeen going in triumph among the crowds, thereupon called to the doctor. "I say, monsieur, I am cured, cured, cured completely!"

He waved his hand to her in a friendly way, but refused to examine her. "I know, my girl. There is nothing more the matter with you. "

Just then Sister Hyacinthe called to him. She had put her sewing down onseeing Madame Vetu raise herself in a frightful fit of nausea. In spiteof her haste, however, she was too late with the basin; the sick womanhad brought up another discharge of black matter, similar to soot; but, this time, some blood was mixed with it, little specks of violet-colouredblood. It was the hemorrhage coming, the near end which Ferrand had beendreading. 

"Send for the superintendent, " he said in a low voice, seating himself atthe bedside. 

Sister Hyacinthe ran for Madame de Jonquiere. The linen having beencounted, she found her deep in conversation with her daughter Raymonde, at some distance from Madame Desagneaux, who was washing her hands. 

Raymonde had just escaped for a few minutes from the refectory, where shewas on duty. This was the roughest of her labours. The long narrow room, with its double row of greasy tables, its sickening smell of food andmisery, quite disgusted her. And taking advantage of the half-hour stillremaining before the return of the patients, she had hurried up-stairs, where, out of breath, with a rosy face and shining eyes, she had thrownher arms around her mother's neck. 

"Ah! mamma, " she cried, "what happiness! It's settled!"

Amazed, her head buzzing, busy with the superintendence of her ward, Madame de Jonquiere did not understand. "What's settled, my child?" sheasked. 

Then Raymonde lowered her voice, and, with a faint blush, replied: "Mymarriage!"

It was now the mother's turn to rejoice. Lively satisfaction appearedupon her face, the fat face of a ripe, handsome, and still agreeablewoman. She at once beheld in her mind's eye their little lodging in theRue Vaneau, where, since her husband's death, she had reared her daughterwith great difficulty upon the few thousand francs he had left her. Thismarriage, however, meant a return to life, to society, the good old timescome back once more. 

"Ah! my child, how happy you make me!" she exclaimed. 

But a feeling of uneasiness suddenly restrained her. God was her witnessthat for three years past she had been coming to Lourdes through puremotives of charity, for the one great joy of nursing His belovedinvalids. Perhaps, had she closely examined her conscience, she might, behind her devotion, have found some trace of her fondness for authority, which rendered her present managerial duties extremely pleasant to her. However, the hope of finding a husband for her daughter among thesuitable young men who swarmed at the Grotto was certainly her lastthought. It was a thought which came to her, of course, but merely assomething that was possible, though she never mentioned it. However, herhappiness, wrung an avowal from her:

"Ah! my child, your success doesn't surprise me. I prayed to the BlessedVirgin for it this morning. "

Then she wished to be quite sure, and asked for further information. Raymonde had not yet told her of her long walk leaning on Gerard's armthe day before, for she did not wish to speak of such things until shewas triumphant, certain of having at last secured a husband. And now itwas indeed settled, as she had exclaimed so gaily: that very morning shehad again seen the young man at the Grotto, and he had formally becomeengaged to her. M. Berthaud would undoubtedly ask for her hand on hiscousin's behalf before they took their departure from Lourdes. 

"Well, " declared Madame de Jonquiere, who was now convinced, smiling, anddelighted at heart, "I hope you will be happy, since you are so sensibleand do not need my aid to bring your affairs to a successful issue. Kissme. "

It was at this moment that Sister Hyacinthe arrived to announce MadameVetu's imminent death. Raymonde at once ran off. And Madame Desagneaux, who was wiping her hands, began to complain of the lady-assistants, whohad all disappeared precisely on the morning when they were most wanted. "For instance, " said she, "there's Madame Volmar. I should like to knowwhere she can have got to. She has not been seen, even for an hour, eversince our arrival. "

"Pray leave Madame Volmar alone!" replied Madame de Jonquiere with someasperity. "I have already told you that she is ill. "

They both hastened to Madame Vetu. Ferrand stood there waiting; andSister Hyacinthe having asked him if there were indeed nothing to bedone, he shook his head. The dying woman, relieved by her first emesis, now lay inert, with closed eyes. But, a second time, the frightful nauseareturned to her, and she brought up another discharge of black mattermingled with violet-coloured blood. Then she had another short intervalof calm, during which she noticed La Grivotte, who was greedily devouringher hunk of bread on the mattress on the floor. 

"She is cured, isn't she?" the poor woman asked, feeling that she herselfwas dying. 

La Grivotte heard her, and exclaimed triumphantly: "Oh, yes, madame, cured, cured, cured completely!"

For a moment Madame Vetu seemed overcome by a miserable feeling of grief, the revolt of one who will not succumb while others continue to live. Butalmost immediately she became resigned, and they heard her add veryfaintly, "It is the young ones who ought to remain. "

Then her eyes, which remained wide open, looked round, as though biddingfarewell to all those persons, whom she seemed surprised to see abouther. She attempted to smile as she encountered the eager gaze ofcuriosity which little Sophie Couteau still fixed upon her: the charmingchild had come to kiss her that very morning, in her bed. Elise Rouquet, who troubled herself about nobody, was meantime holding her hand-glass, absorbed in the contemplation of her face, which seemed to her to begrowing beautiful, now that the sore was healing. But what especiallycharmed the dying woman was the sight of Marie, so lovely in her ecstasy. She watched her for a long time, constantly attracted towards her, astowards a vision of light and joy. Perhaps she fancied that she alreadybeheld one of the saints of Paradise amid the glory of the sun. 

Suddenly, however, the fits of vomiting returned, and now she solelybrought up blood, vitiated blood, the colour of claret. The rush was sogreat that it bespattered the sheet, and ran all over the bed. In vaindid Madame de Jonquiere and Madame Desagneaux bring cloths; they wereboth very pale and scarce able to remain standing. Ferrand, knowing howpowerless he was, had withdrawn to the window, to the very spot where hehad so lately experienced such delicious emotion; and with an instinctivemovement, of which she was surely unconscious, Sister Hyacinthe hadlikewise returned to that happy window, as though to be near him. 

"Really, can you do nothing?" she inquired. 

"No, nothing! She will go off like that, in the same way as a lamp thathas burnt out. "

Madame Vetu, who was now utterly exhausted, with a thin red stream stillflowing from her mouth, looked fixedly at Madame de Jonquiere whilstfaintly moving her lips. The lady-superintendent thereupon bent over herand heard these slowly uttered words:

"About my husband, madame--the shop is in the Rue Mouffetard--oh! it'squite a tiny one, not far from the Gobelins. --He's a clockmaker, he is;he couldn't come with me, of course, having to attend to the business;and he will be very much put out when he finds I don't come back. --Yes, Icleaned the jewelry and did the errands--" Then her voice grew fainter, her words disjointed by the death rattle, which began. "Therefore, madame, I beg you will write to him, because I haven't done so, and nowhere's the end. --Tell him my body had better remain here at Lourdes, onaccount of the expense. --And he must marry again; it's necessary for onein trade--his cousin--tell him his cousin--"

The rest became a confused murmur. Her weakness was too great, her breathwas halting. Yet her eyes continued open and full of life, amid her pale, yellow, waxy mask. And those eyes seemed to fix themselves despairinglyon the past, on all that which soon would be no more: the littleclockmaker's shop hidden away in a populous neighbourhood; the gentlehumdrum existence, with a toiling husband who was ever bending over hiswatches; the great pleasures of Sunday, such as watching children flytheir kites upon the fortifications. And at last these staring eyes gazedvainly into the frightful night which was gathering. 

A last time did Madame de Jonquiere lean over her, seeing that her lipswere again moving. There came but a faint breath, a voice from far away, which distantly murmured in an accent of intense grief: "She did not cureme. "

And then Madame Vetu expired, very gently. 

As though this were all that she had been waiting for, little SophieCouteau jumped from the bed quite satisfied, and went off to play withher doll again at the far end of the ward. Neither La Grivotte, who wasfinishing her bread, nor Elise Rouquet, busy with her mirror, noticed thecatastrophe. However, amidst the cold breath which seemingly swept by, while Madame de Jonquiere and Madame Desagneaux--the latter of whom wasunaccustomed to the sight of death--were whispering together inagitation, Marie emerged from the expectant rapture in which thecontinuous, unspoken prayer of her whole being had plunged her so long. And when she understood what had happened, a feeling of sisterlycompassion--the compassion of a suffering companion, on her side certainof cure--brought tears to her eyes. 

"Ah! the poor woman!" she murmured; "to think that she has died so farfrom home, in such loneliness, at the hour when others are being bornanew!"

Ferrand, who, in spite of professional indifference, had also beenstirred by the scene, stepped forward to verify the death; and it was ona sign from him that Sister Hyacinthe turned up the sheet, and threw itover the dead woman's face, for there could be no question of removingthe corpse at that moment. The patients were now returning from theGrotto in bands, and the ward, hitherto so calm, so full of sunshine, wasagain filling with the tumult of wretchedness and pain--deep coughing andfeeble shuffling, mingled with a noisome smell--a pitiful display, infact, of well-nigh every human infirmity. 

II. THE SERVICE AT THE GROTTO

ON that day, Monday, the crowd at the Grotto, was enormous. It was thelast day that the national pilgrimage would spend at Lourdes, and FatherFourcade, in his morning address, had said that it would be necessary tomake a supreme effort of fervour and faith to obtain from Heaven all thatit might be willing to grant in the way of grace and prodigious cure. So, from two o'clock in the afternoon, twenty thousand pilgrims wereassembled there, feverish, and agitated by the most ardent hopes. Fromminute to minute the throng continued increasing, to such a point, indeed, that Baron Suire became alarmed, and came out of the Grotto tosay to Berthaud: "My friend, we shall be overwhelmed, that's certain. Double your squads, bring your men closer together. "

The Hospitality of Our Lady of Salvation was alone entrusted with thetask of keeping order, for there were neither guardians nor policemen, ofany sort present; and it was for this reason that the President of theAssociation was so alarmed. However, Berthaud, under grave circumstances, was a leader whose words commanded attention, and who was endowed withenergy that could be relied on. 

"Be easy, " said he; "I will be answerable for everything. I shall notmove from here until the four-o'clock procession has passed by. "

Nevertheless, he signalled to Gerard to approach. 

"Give your men the strictest instructions, " he said to him. "Only thosepersons who have cards should be allowed to pass. And place your mennearer each other; tell them to hold the cord tight. "

Yonder, beneath the ivy which draped the rock, the Grotto opened, withthe eternal flaring of its candles. From a distance it looked rathersquat and misshapen, a very narrow and modest aperture for the breath ofthe Infinite which issued from it, turning all faces pale and bowingevery head. The statue of the Virgin had become a mere white spot, whichseemed to move amid the quiver of the atmosphere, heated by the smallyellow flames. To see everything it was necessary to raise oneself; forthe silver altar, the harmonium divested of its housing, the heap ofbouquets flung there, and the votive offerings streaking the smoky wallswere scarcely distinguishable from behind the railing. And the day waslovely; never yet had a purer sky expanded above the immense crowd; thesoftness of the breeze in particular seemed delicious after the storm ofthe night, which had brought down the over-oppressive heat of the twofirst days. 

Gerard had to fight his way with his elbows in order to repeat the ordersto his men. The crowd had already begun pushing. "Two more men here!" hecalled. "Come, four together, if necessary, and hold the rope well!"

The general impulse was instinctive and invincible; the twenty thousandpersons assembled there were drawn towards the Grotto by an irresistibleattraction, in which burning curiosity mingled with the thirst formystery. All eyes converged, every mouth, hand, and body was bornetowards the pale glitter of the candles and the white moving speck of themarble Virgin. And, in order that the large space reserved to the sick, in front of the railings, might not be invaded by the swelling mob, ithad been necessary to inclose it with a stout rope which the bearers atintervals of two or three yards grasped with both hands. Their orderswere to let nobody pass excepting the sick provided with hospital cardsand the few persons to whom special authorisations had been granted. Theylimited themselves, therefore, to raising the cords and then letting themfall behind the chosen ones, without heeding the supplications of theothers. In fact they even showed themselves somewhat rough, taking acertain pleasure in exercising the authority with which they wereinvested for a day. In truth, however, they were very much pushed about, and had to support each other and resist with all the strength of theirloins to avoid being swept away. 

While the benches before the Grotto and the vast reserved space werefilling with sick people, handcarts, and stretchers, the crowd, theimmense crowd, swayed about on the outskirts. Starting from the Place duRosaire, it extended to the bottom of the promenade along the Gave, wherethe pavement throughout its entire length was black with people, so densea human sea that all circulation was prevented. On the parapet was aninterminable line of women--most of them seated, but some few standing soas to see the better--and almost all carrying silk parasols, which, withholiday-like gaiety, shimmered in the sunlight. The managers had wishedto keep a path open in order that the sick might be brought along; but itwas ever being invaded and obstructed, so that the carts and stretchersremained on the road, submerged and lost until a bearer freed them. Nevertheless, the great tramping was that of a docile flock, an innocent, lamb-like crowd; and it was only the involuntary pushing, the blindrolling towards the light of the candles that had to be contendedagainst. No accident had ever happened there, notwithstanding theexcitement, which gradually increased and threw the people into theunruly delirium of faith. 

However, Baron Suire again forced his way through the throng. "Berthaud!Berthaud!" he called, "see that the _defile_ is conducted less rapidly. There are women and children stifling. "

This time Berthaud gave a sign of impatience. "Ah! hang it, I can't beeverywhere! Close the gate for a moment if it's necessary. "

It was a question of the march through the Grotto which went onthroughout the afternoon. The faithful were permitted to enter by thedoor on the left, and made their exit by that on the right. 

"Close the gate!" exclaimed the Baron. "But that would be worse; theywould all get crushed against it!"

As it happened Gerard was there, thoughtlessly talking for an instantwith Raymonde, who was standing on the other side of the cord, holding abowl of milk which she was about to carry to a paralysed old woman; andBerthaud ordered the young fellow to post two men at the entrance gate ofthe iron railing, with instructions only to allow the pilgrims to enterby tens. When Gerard had executed this order, and returned, he foundBerthaud laughing and joking with Raymonde. She went off on her errand, however, and the two men stood watching her while she made the paralysedwoman drink. 

"She is charming, and it's settled, eh?" said Berthaud. "You are going tomarry her, aren't you?"

"I shall ask her mother to-night. I rely upon you to accompany me. "

"Why, certainly. You know what I told you. Nothing could be moresensible. The uncle will find you a berth before six months are over. "

A push of the crowd separated them, and Berthaud went off to make surewhether the march through the Grotto was now being accomplished in amethodical manner, without any crushing. For hours the same unbroken tiderolled in--women, men, and children from all parts of the world, all whochose, all who passed that way. As a result, the crowd was singularlymixed: there were beggars in rags beside neat _bourgeois_, peasants ofeither sex, well dressed ladies, servants with bare hair, young girlswith bare feet, and others with pomatumed hair and foreheads bound withribbons. Admission was free; the mystery was open to all, to unbelieversas well as to the faithful, to those who were solely influenced bycuriosity as well as to those who entered with their hearts faint withlove. And it was a sight to see them, all almost equally affected by thetepid odour of the wax, half stifling in the heavy tabernacle air whichgathered beneath the rocky vault, and lowering their eyes for fear ofslipping on the gratings. Many stood there bewildered, not even bowing, examining the things around with the covert uneasiness of indifferentfolks astray amidst the redoubtable mysteries of a sanctuary. But thedevout crossed themselves, threw letters, deposited candles and bouquets, kissed the rock below the Virgin's statue, or else rubbed their chaplets, medals, and other small objects of piety against it, as the contactsufficed to bless them. And the _defile_ continued, continued without endduring days and months as it had done for years; and it seemed as if thewhole world, all the miseries and sufferings of humanity, came in turnand passed in the same hypnotic, contagious kind of round, through thatrocky nook, ever in search of happiness. 

When Berthaud had satisfied himself that everything was working well, hewalked about like a mere spectator, superintending his men. Only onematter remained to trouble him: the procession of the Blessed Sacrament, during which such frenzy burst forth that accidents were always to befeared. 

This last day seemed likely to be a very fervent one, for he already felta tremor of exalted faith rising among the crowd. The treatment neededfor miraculous care was drawing to an end; there had been the fever ofthe journey, the besetting influence of the same endlessly repeatedhymns, and the stubborn continuation of the same religious exercises; andever and ever the conversation had been turned on miracles, and the mindfixed on the divine illumination of the Grotto. Many, not having sleptfor three nights, had reached a state of hallucination, and walked aboutin a rageful dream. No repose was granted them, the continual prayerswere like whips lashing their souls. The appeals to the Blessed Virginnever ceased; priest followed priest in the pulpit, proclaiming theuniversal dolour and directing the despairing supplications of thethrong, during the whole time that the sick remained with hands claspedand eyes raised to heaven before the pale, smiling, marble statue. 

At that moment the white stone pulpit against the rock on the right ofthe Grotto was occupied by a priest from Toulouse, whom Berthaud knew, and to whom he listened for a moment with an air of approval. He was astout man with an unctuous diction, famous for his rhetorical successes. However, all eloquence here consisted in displaying the strength of one'slungs in a violent delivery of the phrase or cry which the whole crowdhad to repeat; for the addresses were nothing more than so muchvociferation interspersed with "Ayes" and "Paters. "

The priest, who had just finished the Rosary, strove to increase hisstature by stretching his short legs, whilst shouting the first appeal ofthe litanies which he improvised, and led in his own way, according tothe inspiration which possessed him. 

"Mary, we love thee!" he called. 

And thereupon the crowd repeated in a lower, confused, and broken tone:"Mary, we love thee!"

From that moment there was no stopping. The voice of the priest rang outat full swing, and the voices of the crowd responded in a dolorousmurmur:

"Mary, thou art our only hope!"

"Mary, thou art our only hope!"

"Pure Virgin, make us purer, among the pure!"

"Pure Virgin, make us purer, among the pure!"

"Powerful Virgin, save our sick!"

"Powerful Virgin, save our sick!"

Often, when the priest's imagination failed him, or he wished to thrust acry home with greater force, he would repeat it thrice; while the docilecrowd would do the same, quivering under the enervating effect of thepersistent lamentation, which increased the fever. 

The litanies continued, and Berthaud went back towards the Grotto. Thosewho defiled through it beheld an extraordinary sight when they turned andfaced the sick. The whole of the large space between the cords wasoccupied by the thousand or twelve hundred patients whom the nationalpilgrimage had brought with it; and beneath the vast, spotless sky onthat radiant day there was the most heart-rending jumble of sufferersthat one could behold. The three hospitals of Lourdes had emptied theirchambers of horror. To begin with, those who were still able to remainseated had been piled upon the benches. Many of them, however, werepropped up with cushions, whilst others kept shoulder to shoulder, thestrong ones supporting the weak. Then, in front of the benches, beforethe Grotto itself, were the more grievously afflicted sufferers lying atfull length; the flagstones disappearing from view beneath this woefulassemblage, which was like a large, stagnant pool of horror. There was anindescribable block of vehicles, stretchers, and mattresses. Some of theinvalids in little boxes not unlike coffins had raised themselves up andshowed above the others, but the majority lay almost on a level with theground. There were some lying fully dressed on the check-patterned ticksof mattresses; whilst others had been brought with their bedding, so thatonly their heads and pale hands were seen outside the sheets. Few ofthese pallets were clean. Some pillows of dazzling whiteness, which by alast feeling of coquetry had been trimmed with embroidery, alone shoneout among all the filthy wretchedness of all the rest--a fearfulcollection of rags, worn-out blankets, and linen splashed with stains. And all were pushed, squeezed, piled up by chance as they came, women, men, children, and priests, people in nightgowns beside people who werefully attired being jumbled together in the blinding light of day. 

And all forms of disease were there, the whole frightful processionwhich, twice a day, left the hospitals to wend its way through horrifiedLourdes. There were the heads eaten away by eczema, the foreheads crownedwith roseola, and the noses and mouths which elephantiasis hadtransformed into shapeless snouts. Next, the dropsical ones, swollen outlike leathern bottles; the rheumatic ones with twisted hands and swollenfeet, like bags stuffed full of rags; and a sufferer from hydrocephalus, whose huge and weighty skull fell backwards. Then the consumptive ones, with livid skins, trembling with fever, exhausted by dysentery, wasted toskeletons. Then the deformities, the contractions, the twisted trunks, the twisted arms, the necks all awry; all the poor broken, poundedcreatures, motionless in their tragic, marionette-like postures. Then thepoor rachitic girls displaying their waxen complexions and slender neckseaten into by sores; the yellow-faced, besotted-looking women in thepainful stupor which falls on unfortunate creatures devoured by cancer;and the others who turned pale, and dared not move, fearing as they didthe shock of the tumours whose weighty pain was stifling them. On thebenches sat bewildered deaf women, who heard nothing, but sang on all thesame, and blind ones with heads erect, who remained for hours turnedtoward the statue of the Virgin which they could not see. And there wasalso the woman stricken with imbecility, whose nose was eaten away, andwho laughed with a terrifying laugh, displaying the black, empty cavernof her mouth; and then the epileptic woman, whom a recent attack had leftas pale as death, with froth still at the corners of her lips. 

But sickness and suffering were no longer of consequence, since they wereall there, seated or stretched with their eyes upon the Grotto. The poor, fleshless, earthy-looking faces became transfigured, and began to glowwith hope. Anchylosed hands were joined, heavy eyelids found the strengthto rise, exhausted voices revived as the priest shouted the appeals. Atfirst there was nothing but indistinct stuttering, similar to slightpuffs of air rising, here and there above the multitude. Then the cryascended and spread through the crowd itself from one to the other end ofthe immense square. 

"Mary, conceived without sin, pray for us!" cried the priest in histhundering voice. 

And the sick and the pilgrims repeated louder and louder: "Mary, conceived without sin, pray for us!"

Then the flow of the litany set in, and continued with increasing speed:

"Most pure Mother, most chaste Mother, thy children are at thy feet!"

"Most pure Mother, most chaste Mother, thy children are at thy feet!"

"Queen of the Angels, say but a word, and our sick shall be healed!"

"Queen of the Angels, say but a word, and our sick shall be healed!"

In the second row of sufferers, near the pulpit, was M. Sabathier, whohad asked to be brought there early, wishing to choose his place like anold _habitue_ who knew the cosy corners. Moreover, it seemed to him thatit was of paramount importance that he should be as near as possible, under the very eyes of the Virgin, as though she required to see herfaithful in order not to forget them. However, for the seven years thathe had been coming there he had nursed this one hope of being some daynoticed by her, of touching her, and of obtaining his cure, if not byselection, at least by seniority. This merely needed patience on his partwithout the firmness of his faith being in the least shaken by his way ofthinking. Only, like a poor, resigned man just a little weary of beingalways put off, he sometimes allowed himself diversions. For instance, hehad obtained permission to keep his wife near him, seated on acamp-stool, and he liked to talk to her, and acquaint her with hisreflections. 

"Raise me a little, my dear, " said he. "I am slipping. I am veryuncomfortable. "

Attired in trousers and a coarse woollen jacket, he was sitting upon hismattress, with his back leaning against a tilted chair. 

"Are you better?" asked his wife, when she had raised him. 

"Yes, yes, " he answered; and then began to take an interest in BrotherIsidore, whom they had succeeded in bringing in spite of everything, andwho was lying upon a neighbouring mattress, with a sheet drawn up to hischin, and nothing protruding but his wasted hands, which lay clasped uponthe blanket. 

"Ah! the poor man, " said M. Sabathier. "It's very imprudent, but theBlessed Virgin is so powerful when she chooses!"

He took up his chaplet again, but once more broke off from his devotionson perceiving Madame Maze, who had just glided into the reservedspace--so slender and unobtrusive that she had doubtless slipped underthe ropes without being noticed. She had seated herself at the end of abench and, very quiet and motionless, did not occupy more room there thana child. And her long face, with its weary features, the face of a womanof two-and-thirty faded before her time, wore an expression of unlimitedsadness, infinite abandonment. 

"And so, " resumed M. Sabathier in a low voice, again addressing his wifeafter attracting her attention by a slight movement of the chin, "it'sfor the conversion of her husband that this lady prays. You came acrossher this morning in a shop, didn't you?"

"Yes, yes, " replied Madame Sabathier. "And, besides, I had some talkabout her with another lady who knows her. Her husband is acommercial-traveller. He leaves her for six months at a time, and goesabout with other people. Oh! he's a very gay fellow, it seems, very nice, and he doesn't let her want for money; only she adores him, she cannotaccustom herself to his neglect, and comes to pray the Blessed Virgin togive him back to her. At this moment, it appears, he is close by, atLuchon, with two ladies--two sisters. "

M. Sabathier signed to his wife to stop. He was now looking at theGrotto, again becoming a man of intellect, a professor whom questions ofart had formerly impassioned. "You see, my dear, " he said, "they havespoilt the Grotto by endeavouring to make it too beautiful. I am certainit looked much better in its original wildness. It has lost itscharacteristic features--and what a frightful shop they have stuck there, on the left!"

However, he now experienced sudden remorse for his thoughtlessness. Whilst he was chatting away, might not the Blessed Virgin be noticing oneof his neighbours, more fervent, more sedate than himself? Feelinganxious on the point, he reverted to his customary modesty and patience, and with dull, expressionless eyes again began waiting for the goodpleasure of Heaven. 

Moreover, the sound of a fresh voice helped to bring him back to thisannihilation, in which nothing was left of the cultured reasoner that hehad formerly been. It was another preacher who had just entered thepulpit, a Capuchin this time, whose guttural call, persistently repeated, sent a tremor through the crowd. 

"Holy Virgin of virgins, be blessed!"

"Holy Virgin of virgins, be blessed!"

"Holy Virgin of virgins, turn not thy face from thy children!"

"Holy Virgin of virgins, turn not thy face from thy children!"

"Holy Virgin of virgins, breathe upon our sores, and our sores shallheal!"

"Holy Virgin of virgins, breathe upon our sores, and our sores shallheal!"

At the end of the first bench, skirting the central path, which wasbecoming crowded, the Vigneron family had succeeded in finding room forthemselves. They were all there: little Gustave, seated in a sinkingposture, with his crutch between his legs; his mother, beside him, following the prayers like a punctilious _bourgeoise_; his aunt, MadameChaise, on the other side, so inconvenienced by the crowd that she wasstifling; and M. Vigneron, who remained silent and, for a moment, hadbeen examining Madame Chaise attentively. 

"What is the matter with you, my dear?" he inquired. "Do you feelunwell?"

She was breathing with difficulty. "Well, I don't know, " she answered;"but I can't feel my limbs, and my breath fails me. "

At that very moment the thought had occurred to him that all theagitation, fever, and scramble of a pilgrimage could not be very good forheart-disease. Of course he did not desire anybody's death, he had neverasked the Blessed Virgin for any such thing. If his prayer foradvancement had already been granted through the sudden death of hischief, it must certainly be because Heaven had already ordained thelatter's death. And, in the same way, if Madame Chaise should die first, leaving her fortune to Gustave, he would only have to bow before the willof God, which generally requires that the aged should go off before theyoung. Nevertheless, his hope unconsciously became so keen that he couldnot help exchanging a glance with his wife, to whom had come the sameinvoluntary thought. 

"Gustave, draw back, " he exclaimed; "you are inconveniencing your aunt. "And then, as Raymonde passed, he asked; "Do you happen to have a glass ofwater, mademoiselle? One of our relatives here is losing consciousness. "

But Madame Chaise refused the offer with a gesture. She was gettingbetter, recovering her breath with an effort. "No, I want nothing, thankyou, " she gasped. "There, I'm better--still, I really thought this timethat I should stifle!"

Her fright left her trembling, with haggard eyes in her pale face. Sheagain joined her hands, and begged the Blessed Virgin to save her fromother attacks and cure her; while the Vignerons, man and wife, honestfolk both of them, reverted to the covert prayer for happiness that theyhad come to offer up at Lourdes: a pleasant old age, deservedly gained bytwenty years of honesty, with a respectable fortune which in later yearsthey would go and enjoy in the country, cultivating flowers. On the otherhand, little Gustave, who had seen and noted everything with his brighteyes and intelligence sharpened by suffering, was not praying, butsmiling at space, with his vague enigmatical smile. What could be the useof his praying? He knew that the Blessed Virgin would not cure him, andthat he would die. 

However, M. Vigneron could not remain long without busying himself abouthis neighbours. Madame Dieulafay, who had come late, had been depositedin the crowded central pathway; and he marvelled at the luxury about theyoung woman, that sort of coffin quilted with white silk, in which shewas lying, attired in a pink dressing-gown trimmed with Valencienneslace. The husband in a frock-coat, and the sister in a black gown ofsimple but marvellous elegance, were standing by; while Abbe Judaine, kneeling near the sufferer, finished offering up a fervent prayer. 

When the priest had risen, M. Vigneron made him a little room on thebench beside him; and he then took the liberty of questioning him. "Well, Monsieur le Cure, does that poor young woman feel a little better?"

Abbe Judaine made a gesture of infinite sadness. 

"Alas! no. I was full of so much hope! It was I who persuaded the familyto come. Two years ago the Blessed Virgin showed me such extraordinarygrace by curing my poor lost eyes, that I hoped to obtain another favourfrom her. However, I will not despair. We still have until to-morrow. "

M. Vigneron again looked towards Madame Dieulafay and examined her face, still of a perfect oval and with admirable eyes; but it wasexpressionless, with ashen hue, similar to a mask of death, amidst thelace. "It's really very sad, " he murmured. 

"And if you had seen her last summer!" resumed the priest. "They havetheir country seat at Saligny, my parish, and I often dined with them. Icannot help feeling sad when I look at her elder sister, Madame Jousseur, that lady in black who stands there, for she bears a strong resemblanceto her; and the poor sufferer was even prettier, one of the beauties ofParis. And now compare them together--observe that brilliancy, thatsovereign grace, beside that poor, pitiful creature--it oppresses one'sheart--ah! what a frightful lesson!"

He became silent for an instant. Saintly man that he was naturally, altogether devoid of passions, with no keen intelligence to disturb himin his faith, he displayed a naive admiration for beauty, wealth, andpower, which he had never envied. Nevertheless, he ventured to express adoubt, a scruple, which troubled his usual serenity. "For my part, Ishould have liked her to come here with more simplicity, without allthat surrounding of luxury, because the Blessed Virgin prefers thehumble--But I understand very well that there are certain socialexigencies. And, then, her husband and sister love her so! Remember thathe has forsaken his business and she her pleasures in order to come herewith her; and so overcome are they at the idea of losing her that theireyes are never dry, they always have that bewildered look which you cannotice. So they must be excused for trying to procure her the comfort oflooking beautiful until the last hour. "

M. Vigneron nodded his head approvingly. Ah! it was certainly not thewealthy who had the most luck at the Grotto! Servants, country folk, poorbeggars, were cured, while ladies returned home with their ailmentsunrelieved, notwithstanding their gifts and the big candles they hadburnt. And, in spite of himself, Vigneron then looked at Madame Chaise, who, having recovered from her attack, was now reposing with acomfortable air. 

But a tremor passed through the crowd and Abbe Judaine spoke again: "Hereis Father Massias coming towards the pulpit. He is a saint; listen tohim. "

They knew him, and were aware that he could not make his appearancewithout every soul being stirred by sudden hope, for it was reported thatthe miracles were often brought to pass by his great fervour. His voice, full of tenderness and strength, was said to be appreciated by theVirgin. 

All heads were therefore uplifted and the emotion yet further increasedwhen Father Fourcade was seen coming to the foot of the pulpit, leaningon the shoulder of his well-beloved brother, the preferred of all; and hestayed there, so that he also might hear him. His gouty foot had beenpaining him more acutely since the morning, so that it required greatcourage on his part to remain thus standing and smiling. The increasingexaltation of the crowd made him happy, however; he foresaw prodigies anddazzling cures which would redound to the glory of Mary and Jesus. 

Having ascended the pulpit, Father Massias did not at once speak. Heseemed, very tall, thin, and pale, with an ascetic face, elongated themore by his discoloured beard. His eyes sparkled, and his large eloquentmouth protruded passionately. 

"Lord, save us, for we perish!" he suddenly cried; and in a fever, whichincreased minute by minute, the transported crowd repeated: "Lord, saveus, for we perish!"

Then he opened his arms and again launched forth his flaming cry, as ifhe had torn it from his glowing heart: "Lord, if it be Thy will, Thoucanst heal me!"

"Lord, if it be Thy will, Thou canst heal me!"

"Lord, I am not worthy that Thou shouldst enter under my roof, but onlysay the word, and I shall be healed!"

"Lord, I am not worthy that Thou shouldst enter under my roof, but onlysay the word, and I shall be healed!"

Marthe, Brother Isidore's sister, had now begun to talk in a whisper toMadame Sabathier, near whom she had at last seated herself. They hadformed an acquaintance at the hospital; and, drawn together by so muchsuffering, the servant had familiarly confided to the _bourgeoise_ howanxious she felt about her brother; for she could plainly see that he hadvery little breath left in him. The Blessed Virgin must be quick indeedif she desired to save him. It was already a miracle that they had beenable to bring him alive as far as the Grotto. 

In her resignation, poor, simple creature that she was, she did not weep;but her heart was so swollen that her infrequent words came faintly fromher lips. Then a flood of past memories suddenly returned to her; andwith her utterance thickened by prolonged silence, she began to relieveher heart: "We were fourteen at home, at Saint Jacut, near Vannes. He, big as he was, has always been delicate, and that was why he remainedwith our priest, who ended by placing him among the Christian Brothers. The elder ones took over the property, and, for my part, I preferredgoing out to service. Yes, it was a lady who took me with her to Paris, five years ago already. Ah! what a lot of trouble there is in life!Everyone has so much trouble!"

"You are quite right, my girl, " replied Madame Sabathier, looking thewhile at her husband, who was devoutly repeating each of Father Massias'sappeals. 

"And then, " continued Marthe, "there I learned last month that Isidore, who had returned from a hot climate where he had been on a mission, hadbrought a bad sickness back with him. And, when I ran to see him, he toldme he should die if he did not leave for Lourdes, but that he couldn'tmake the journey, because he had nobody to accompany him. Then, as I hadeighty francs saved up, I gave up my place, and we set out together. Yousee, madame, if I am so fond of him, it's because he used to bring megooseberries from the parsonage, whereas all the others beat me. "

She relapsed into silence for a moment, her countenance swollen by grief, and her poor eyes so scorched by watching that no tears could come fromthem. Then she began to stutter disjointed words: "Look at him, madame. It fills one with pity. Ah! my God, his poor cheeks, his poor chin, hispoor face--"

It was, in fact, a lamentable spectacle. Madame Sabathier's heart wasquite upset when she observed Brother Isidore so yellow, cadaverous, steeped in a cold sweat of agony. Above the sheet he still only showedhis clasped hands and his face encircled with long scanty hair; but ifthose wax-like hands seemed lifeless, if there was not a feature of thatlong-suffering face that stirred, its eyes were still alive, inextinguishable eyes of love, whose flame sufficed to illumine the wholeof his expiring visage--the visage of a Christ upon the cross. And neverhad the contrast been so clearly marked between his low forehead andunintelligent, loutish, peasant air, and the divine splendour which camefrom his poor human mask, ravaged and sanctified by suffering, sublime atthis last hour in the passionate radiance of his faith. His flesh hadmelted, as it were; he was no longer a breath, nothing but a look, alight. 

Since he had been set down there his eyes had not strayed from the statueof the Virgin. Nothing else existed around him. He did not see theenormous multitude, he did not even hear the wild cries of the priests, the incessant cries which shook this quivering crowd. His eyes aloneremained to him, his eyes burning with infinite tenderness, and they werefixed upon the Virgin, never more to turn from her. They drank her in, even unto death; they made a last effort of will to disappear, die out inher. For an instant, however, his mouth half opened and his drawn visagerelaxed as an expression of celestial beatitude came over it. Thennothing more stirred, his eyes remained wide open, still obstinatelyfixed upon the white statue. 

A few seconds elapsed. Marthe had felt a cold breath, chilling the rootsof her hair. "I say, madame, look!" she stammered. 

Madame Sabathier, who felt anxious, pretended that she did notunderstand. "What is it, my girl?"

"My brother! look! He no longer moves. He opened his mouth, and has notstirred since. " Then they both shuddered, feeling certain he was dead. Hehad, indeed, just passed away, without a rattle, without a breath, as iflife had escaped in his glance, through his large, loving eyes, ravenouswith passion. He had expired gazing upon the Virgin, and nothing couldhave been so sweet; and he still continued to gaze upon her with his deadeyes, as though with ineffable delight. 

"Try to close his eyes, " murmured Madame Sabathier. "We shall soon knowthen. "

Marthe had already risen, and, leaning forward, so as not to be observed, she endeavoured to close the eyes with a trembling finger. But each timethey reopened, and again looked at the Virgin with invincible obstinacy. He was dead, and Marthe had to leave his eyes wide open, steeped inunbounded ecstasy. 

"Ah! it's finished, it's quite finished, madame!" she stuttered. 

Two tears then burst from her heavy eyelids and ran down her cheeks;while Madame Sabathier caught hold of her hand to keep her quiet. Therehad been whisperings, and uneasiness was already spreading. But whatcourse could be adopted? It was impossible to carry off the corpse amidstsuch a mob, during the prayers, without incurring the risk of creating adisastrous effect. The best plan would be to leave it there, pending afavourable moment. The poor fellow scandalised no one, he did not seemany more dead now than he had seemed ten minutes previously, andeverybody would think that his flaming eyes were still alive, ardentlyappealing to the divine compassion of the Blessed Virgin. 

Only a few persons among those around knew the truth. M. Sabathier, quitescared, had made a questioning sign to his wife, and on being answered bya prolonged affirmative nod, he had returned to his prayers without anyrebellion, though he could not help turning pale at the thought of themysterious almighty power which sent death when life was asked for. TheVignerons, who were very much interested, leaned forward, and whisperedas though in presence of some street accident, one of those pettyincidents which in Paris the father sometimes related on returning homefrom the Ministry, and which sufficed to occupy them all, throughout theevening. Madame Jousseur, for her part, had simply turned round andwhispered a word or two in M. Dieulafay's ear, and then they had bothreverted to the heart-rending contemplation of their own dear invalid;whilst Abbe Judaine, informed by M. Vigneron, knelt down, and in a low, agitated voice recited the prayers for the dead. Was he not a Saint, thatmissionary who had returned from a deadly climate, with a mortal wound inhis side, to die there, beneath the smiling gaze of the Blessed Virgin?And Madame Maze, who also knew what had happened, suddenly felt a tastefor death, and resolved that she would implore Heaven to suppress heralso, in unobtrusive fashion, if it would not listen to her prayer andgive her back her husband. 

But the cry of Father Massias rose into a still higher key, burst forthwith a strength of terrible despair, with a rending like that of a sob:"Jesus, son of David, I am perishing, save me!"

And the crowd sobbed after him in unison "Jesus, son of David, I amperishing, save me!"

Then, in quick succession, and in higher and higher keys, the appealswent on proclaiming the intolerable misery of the world:

"Jesus, son of David, take pity on Thy sick children!"

"Jesus, son of David, take pity on Thy sick children!"

"Jesus, son of David, come, heal them, that they may live!"

"Jesus, son of David, come, heal them, that they may live!"

It was delirium. At the foot of the pulpit Father Fourcade, succumbing tothe extraordinary passion which overflowed from all hearts, had likewiseraised his arms, and was shouting the appeals in his thundering voice asthough to compel the intervention of Heaven. And the exaltation was stillincreasing beneath this blast of desire, whose powerful breath bowedevery head in turn, spreading even to the young women who, in a spirit ofmere curiosity, sat watching the scene from the parapet of the Gave; forthese also turned pale under their sunshades. 

Miserable humanity was clamouring from the depths of its abyss ofsuffering, and the clamour swept along, sending a shudder down everyspine, for one and all were plunged in agony, refusing to die, longing tocompel God to grant them eternal life. Ah! life, life! that was what allthose unfortunates, who had come so far, amid so many obstacles, wanted--that was the one boon they asked for in their wild desire to liveit over again, to live it always! O Lord, whatever our misery, whateverthe torment of our life may be, cure us, grant that we may begin to liveagain and suffer once more what we have suffered already. However unhappywe may be, to be is what we wish. It is not heaven that we ask Thee for, it is earth; and grant that we may leave it at the latest possiblemoment, never leave it, indeed, if such be Thy good pleasure. And evenwhen we no longer implore a physical cure, but a moral favour, it isstill happiness that we ask Thee for; happiness, the thirst for whichalone consumes us. O Lord, grant that we may be happy and healthy; let uslive, ay, let us live forever!

This wild cry, the cry of man's furious desire for life, came in brokenaccents, mingled with tears, from every breast. 

"O Lord, son of David, heal our sick!"

"O Lord, son of David, heal our sick!"

Berthaud had twice been obliged to dash forward to prevent the cords fromgiving way under the unconscious pressure of the crowd. Baron Suire, indespair, kept on making signs, begging someone to come to his assistance;for the Grotto was now invaded, and the march past had become the meretrampling of a flock rushing to its passion. In vain did Gerard againleave Raymonde and post himself at the entrance gate of the iron railing, so as to carry out the orders, which were to admit the pilgrims by tens. He was hustled and swept aside, while with feverish excitement everybodyrushed in, passing like a torrent between the flaring candles, throwingbouquets and letters to the Virgin, and kissing the rock, which thepressure of millions of inflamed lips had polished. It was faith runwild, the great power that nothing henceforth could stop. 

And now, whilst Gerard stood there, hemmed in against the iron railing, he heard two countrywomen, whom the advance was bearing onward, raiseloud exclamations at sight of the sufferers lying on the stretchersbefore them. One of them was so greatly impressed by the pallid face ofBrother Isidore, whose large dilated eyes were still fixed on the statueof the Virgin, that she crossed herself, and, overcome by devoutadmiration, murmured: "Oh! look at that one; see how he is praying withhis whole heart, and how he gazes on Our Lady of Lourdes!"

The other peasant woman thereupon replied "Oh! she will certainly curehim, he is so beautiful!"

Indeed, as the dead man lay there, his eyes still fixedly staring whilsthe continued his prayer of love and faith, his appearance touched everyheart. No one in that endless, streaming throng could behold him withoutfeeling edified. 

III. MARIE'S CURE

IT was good Abbe Judaine who was to carry the Blessed Sacrament in thefour-o'clock procession. Since the Blessed Virgin had cured him of adisease of the eyes, a miracle with which the Catholic press stillresounded, he had become one of the glories of Lourdes, was given thefirst place, and honoured with all sorts of attentions. 

At half-past three he rose, wishing to leave the Grotto, but theextraordinary concourse of people quite frightened him, and he feared hewould be late if he did not succeed in getting out of it. Fortunatelyhelp came to him in the person of Berthaud. "Monsieur le Cure, " exclaimedthe superintendent of the bearers, "don't attempt to pass out by way ofthe Rosary; you would never arrive in time. The best course is to ascendby the winding paths--and come! follow me; I will go before you. "

By means of his elbows, he thereupon parted the dense throng and opened apath for the priest, who overwhelmed him with thanks. "You are too kind. It's my fault; I had forgotten myself. But, good heavens! how shall wemanage to pass with the procession presently?"

This procession was Berthaud's remaining anxiety. Even on ordinary daysit provoked wild excitement, which forced him to take special measures;and what would now happen, as it wended its way through this densemultitude of thirty thousand persons, consumed by such a fever of faith, already on the verge of divine frenzy? Accordingly, in a sensible way, hetook advantage of this opportunity to give Abbe Judaine the best advice. 

"Ah! Monsieur le Cure, pray impress upon your colleagues of the clergythat they must not leave any space between their ranks; they should comeon slowly, one close behind the other. And, above all, the banners shouldbe firmly grasped, so that they may not be overthrown. As for yourself, Monsieur le Cure, see that the canopy-bearers are strong, tighten thecloth around the monstrance, and don't be afraid to carry it in bothhands with all your strength. "

A little frightened by this advice, the priest went on expressing histhanks. "Of course, of course; you are very good, " said he. "Ah!monsieur, how much I am indebted to you for having helped me to escapefrom all those people!"

Then, free at last, he hastened towards the Basilica by the narrowserpentine path which climbs the hill; while his companion again plungedinto the mob, to return to his post of inspection. 

At that same moment Pierre, who was bringing Marie to the Grotto in herlittle cart, encountered on the other side, that of the Place du Rosaire, the impenetrable wall formed by the crowd. The servant at the hotel hadawakened him at three o'clock, so that he might go and fetch the younggirl at the hospital. There seemed to be no hurry; they apparently hadplenty of time to reach the Grotto before the procession. However, thatimmense throng, that resisting, living wall, through which he did notknow how to break, began to cause him some uneasiness. He would neversucceed in passing with the little car if the people did not evince someobligingness. "Come, ladies, come!" he appealed. "I beg of you! You see, it's for a patient!"

The ladies, hypnotised as they were by the spectacle of the Grottosparkling in the distance, and standing on tiptoe so as to lose nothingof the sight, did not move, however. Besides, the clamour of the litanieswas so loud at this moment that they did not even hear the young priest'sentreaties. 

Then Pierre began again: "Pray stand on one side, gentlemen; allow me topass. A little room for a sick person. Come, please, listen to what I amsaying!"

But the men, beside themselves, in a blind, deaf rapture, would stir nomore than the women. 

Marie, however, smiled serenely, as if ignorant of the impediments, andconvinced that nothing in the world could prevent her from going to hercure. However, when Pierre had found an aperture, and begun to work hisway through the moving mass, the situation became more serious. From allparts the swelling human waves beat against the frail chariot, and attimes threatened to submerge it. At each step it became necessary tostop, wait, and again entreat the people. Pierre had never before feltsuch an anxious sensation in a crowd. True, it was not a threatening mob, it was as innocent as a flock of sheep; but he found a troubling thrillin its midst, a peculiar atmosphere that upset him. And, in spite of hisaffection for the humble, the ugliness of the features around him, thecommon, sweating faces, the evil breath, and the old clothes, smelling ofpoverty, made him suffer even to nausea. 

"Now, ladies, now, gentlemen, it's for a patient, " he repeated. "A littleroom, I beg of you!"

Buffeted about in this vast ocean, the little vehicle continued toadvance by fits and starts, taking long minutes to get over a few yardsof ground. At one moment you might have thought it swamped, for no signof it could be detected. Then, however, it reappeared near the piscinas. Tender sympathy had at length been awakened for this sick girl, so wastedby suffering, but still so beautiful. When people had been compelled togive way before the priest's stubborn pushing, they turned round, but didnot dare to get angry, for pity penetrated them at sight of that thin, suffering face, shining out amidst a halo of fair hair. Words ofcompassion and admiration were heard on all sides: "Ah, the poorchild!"--"Was it not cruel to be infirm at her age?"--"Might the BlessedVirgin be merciful to her!" Others, however, expressed surprise, struckas they were by the ecstasy in which they saw her, with her clear eyesopen to the spheres beyond, where she had placed her hope. She beheldHeaven, she would assuredly be cured. And thus the little car left, as itwere, a feeling of wonder and fraternal charity behind it, as it made itsway with so much difficulty through that human ocean. 

Pierre, however, was in despair and at the end of his strength, when someof the stretcher-bearers came to his aid by forming a path for thepassage of the procession--a path which Berthaud had ordered them to keepclear by means of cords, which they were to hold at intervals of a coupleof yards. From that moment the young priest was able to drag Marie alongin a fairly easy manner, and at last place her within the reserved space, where he halted, facing the Grotto on the left side. You could no longermove in this reserved space, where the crowd seemed to increase everyminute. And, quite exhausted by the painful journey he had justaccomplished, Pierre reflected what a prodigious concourse of peoplethere was; it had seemed to him as if he were in the midst of an ocean, whose waves he had heard heaving around him without a pause. 

Since leaving the hospital Marie had not opened her lips. He nowrealised, however, that she wished to speak to him, and accordingly bentover her. "And my father, " she inquired, "is he here? Hasn't he returnedfrom his excursion?"

Pierre had to answer that M. De Guersaint had not returned, and that hehad doubtless been delayed against his will. And thereupon she merelyadded with a smile: "Ah I poor father, won't he be pleased when he findsme cured!"

Pierre looked at her with tender admiration. He did not remember havingever seen her looking so adorable since the slow wasting of sickness hadbegun. Her hair, which alone disease had respected, clothed her in gold. Her thin, delicate face had assumed a dreamy expression, her eyeswandering away to the haunting thought of her sufferings, her featuresmotionless, as if she had fallen asleep in a fixed thought until theexpected shock of happiness should waken her. She was absent fromherself, ready, however, to return to consciousness whenever God mightwill it. And, indeed, this delicious infantile creature, this little girlof three-and-twenty, still a child as when an accident had struck her, delaying her growth, preventing her from becoming a woman, was at lastready to receive the visit of the angel, the miraculous shock which woulddraw her out of her torpor and set her upright once more. Her morningecstasy continued; she had clasped her hands, and a leap of her wholebeing had ravished her from earth as soon as she had perceived the imageof the Blessed Virgin yonder. And now she prayed and offered herselfdivinely. 

It was an hour of great mental trouble for Pierre. He felt that the dramaof his priestly life was about to be enacted, and that if he did notrecover faith in this crisis, it would never return to him. And he waswithout bad thoughts, without resistance, hoping with fervour, he also, that they might both be healed! Oh! that he might be convinced by hercure, that he might believe like her, that they might be saved together!He wished to pray, ardently, as she herself did. But in spite of himselfhe was preoccupied by the crowd, that limitless crowd, among which hefound it so difficult to drown himself, disappear, become nothing morethan a leaf in the forest, lost amidst the rustle of all the leaves. Hecould not prevent himself from analysing and judging it. He knew that forfour days past it had been undergoing all the training of suggestion;there had been the fever of the long journey, the excitement of the newlandscapes, the days spent before the splendour of the Grotto, thesleepless nights, and all the exasperating suffering, ravenous forillusion. Then, again, there had been the all-besetting prayers, thosehymns, those litanies, which agitated it without a pause. Another priesthad followed Father Massias in the pulpit, a little thin, dark Abbe, whomPierre heard hurling appeals to the Virgin and Jesus in a lashing voicewhich resounded like a whip. Father Massias and Father Fourcade hadremained at the foot of the pulpit, and were now directing the cries ofthe crowd, whose lamentations rose in louder and louder tones beneath thelimpid sunlight. The general exaltation had yet increased; it was thehour when the violence done to Heaven at last produced the miracles. 

All at once a paralytic rose up and walked towards the Grotto, holdinghis crutch in the air; and this crutch, waving like a flag above theswaying heads, wrung loud applause from the faithful. They were all onthe look-out for prodigies, they awaited them with the certainty thatthey would take place, innumerable and wonderful. Some eyes seemed tobehold them, and feverish voices pointed them out. Another woman had beencured! Another! Yet another! A deaf person had heard, a mute had spoken, a consumptive had revived! What, a consumptive? Certainly, that was adaily occurrence! Surprise was no longer possible; you might havecertified that an amputated leg was growing again without astonishinganyone. Miracle-working became the actual state of nature, the usualthing, quite commonplace, such was its abundance. The most incrediblestories seemed quite simple to those overheated imaginations, given whatthey expected from the Blessed Virgin. And you should have heard thetales that went about, the quiet affirmations, the expressions ofabsolute certainty which were exchanged whenever a delirious patientcried out that she was cured. Another! Yet another! However, a piteousvoice would at times exclaim: "Ah! she's cured; that one; she's lucky, she is!"

Already, at the Verification Office, Pierre had suffered from thiscredulity of the folk among whom he lived. But here it surpassedeverything he could have imagined; and he was exasperated by theextravagant things he heard people say in such a placid fashion, with theopen smiles of children. Accordingly he tried to absorb himself in histhoughts and listen to nothing. "O God!" he prayed, "grant that my reasonmay be annihilated, that I may no longer desire to understand, that I mayaccept the unreal and impossible. " For a moment he thought the spirit ofinquiry dead within him, and allowed the cry of supplication to carry himaway: "Lord, heal our sick! Lord, heal our sick!" He repeated this appealwith all his charity, clasped his hands, and gazed fixedly at the statueof the Virgin, until he became quite giddy, and imagined that the figuremoved. Why should he not return to a state of childhood like the others, since happiness lay in ignorance and falsehood? Contagion would surelyend by acting; he would become nothing more than a grain of sand amonginnumerable other grains, one of the humblest among the humble ones underthe millstone, who trouble not about the power that crushes them. Butjust at that second, when he hoped that he had killed the old man in him, that he had annihilated himself along with his will and intelligence, thestubborn work of thought, incessant and invincible, began afresh in thedepths of his brain. Little by little, notwithstanding his efforts to thecontrary, he returned to his inquiries, doubted, and sought the truth. What was the unknown force thrown off by this crowd, the vital fluidpowerful enough to work the few cures that really occurred? There washere a phenomenon that no physiologist had yet studied. Ought one tobelieve that a multitude became a single being, as it were, able toincrease the power of auto-suggestion tenfold upon itself? Might oneadmit that, under certain circumstances of extreme exaltation, amultitude became an agent of sovereign will compelling the obedience ofmatter? That would have explained how sudden cure fell at times upon themost sincerely excited of the throng. The breaths of all of them unitedin one breath, and the power that acted was a power of consolation, hope, and life. 

This thought, the outcome of his human charity, filled Pierre withemotion. For another moment he was able to regain possession of himself, and prayed for the cure of all, deeply touched by the belief that hehimself might in some degree contribute towards the cure of Marie. Butall at once, without knowing what transition of ideas led to it, arecollection returned to him of the medical consultation which he hadinsisted upon prior to the young girl's departure for Lourdes. The scenerose before him with extraordinary clearness and precision; he saw theroom with its grey, blue-flowered wall-paper, and he heard the threedoctors discuss and decide. The two who had given certificatesdiagnosticating paralysis of the marrow spoke discreetly, slowly, likeesteemed, well-known, perfectly honourable practitioners; but Pierrestill heard the warm, vivacious voice of his cousin Beauclair, the thirddoctor, a young man of vast and daring intelligence, who was treatedcoldly by his colleagues as being of an adventurous turn of mind. And atthis supreme moment Pierre was surprised to find in his memory thingswhich he did not know were there; but it was only an instance of thatsingular phenomenon by which it sometimes happens that words scarcelistened to, words but imperfectly heard, words stored away in the brainalmost in spite of self, will awaken, burst forth, and impose themselveson the mind after they have long been forgotten. And thus it now seemedto him that the very approach of the miracle was bringing him a vision ofthe conditions under which--according to Beauclair's predictions--themiracle would be accomplished. 

In vain did Pierre endeavour to drive away this recollection by prayingwith an increase of fervour. The scene again appeared to him, and the oldwords rang out, filling his ears like a trumpet-blast. He was now againin the dining-room, where Beauclair and he had shut themselves up afterthe departure of the two others, and Beauclair recapitulated the historyof the malady: the fall from a horse at the age of fourteen; thedislocation and displacement of the organ, with doubtless a slightlaceration of the ligaments, whence the weight which the sufferer hadfelt, and the weakness of the legs leading to paralysis. Then, a slowhealing of the disorder, everything returning to its place of itself, butwithout the pain ceasing. In fact this big, nervous child, whose mind hadbeen so grievously impressed by her accident, was unable to forget it;her attention remained fixed on the part where she suffered, and shecould not divert it, so that, even after cure, her sufferings hadcontinued--a neuropathic state, a consecutive nervous exhaustion, doubtless aggravated by accidents due to faulty nutrition as yetimperfectly understood. And further, Beauclair easily explained thecontrary and erroneous diagnosis of the numerous doctors who had attendedher, and who, as she would not submit to examination, had groped in thedark, some believing in a tumour, and the others, the more numerous, convinced of some lesion of the marrow. He alone, after inquiring intothe girl's parentage, had just begun to suspect a simple state ofauto-suggestion, in which she had obstinately remained ever since thefirst violent shock of pain; and among the reasons which he gave for thisbelief were the contraction of her visual field, the fixity of her eyes, the absorbed, inattentive expression of her face, and above all thenature of the pain she felt, which, leaving the organ, had borne to theleft, where it continued in the form of a crushing, intolerable weight, which sometimes rose to the breast in frightful fits of stifling. Asudden determination to throw off the false notion she had formed of hercomplaint, the will to rise, breathe freely, and suffer no more, couldalone place her on her feet again, cured, transfigured, beneath the lashof some intense emotion. 

A last time did Pierre endeavour to see and hear no more, for he feltthat the irreparable ruin of all belief in the miraculous was in him. And, in spite of his efforts, in spite of the ardour with which he beganto cry, "Jesus, son of David, heal our sick!" he still saw, he stillheard Beauclair telling him, in his calm, smiling manner how the miraclewould take place, like a lightning flash, at the moment of extremeemotion, under the decisive circumstance which would complete theloosening of the muscles. The patient would rise and walk in a wildtransport of joy, her legs would all at once be light again, relieved ofthe weight which had so long made them like lead, as though this weighthad melted, fallen to the ground. But above all, the weight which boreupon the lower part of the trunk, which rose, ravaged the breast, andstrangled the throat, would this time depart in a prodigious soaringflight, a tempest blast bearing all the evil away with it. And was it notthus that, in the Middle Ages, possessed women had by the mouth cast upthe Devil, by whom their flesh had so long been tortured? And Beauclairhad added that Marie would at last become a woman, that in that moment ofsupreme joy she would cease to be a child, that although seemingly wornout by her prolonged dream of suffering, she would all at once berestored to resplendent health, with beaming face, and eyes full of life. 

Pierre looked at her, and his trouble increased still more on seeing herso wretched in her little cart, so distractedly imploring health, herwhole being soaring towards Our Lady of Lourdes, who gave life. Ah! mightshe be saved, at the cost even of his own damnation! But she was too ill;science lied like faith; he could not believe that this child, whoselimbs had been dead for so many years, would indeed return to life. And, in the bewildered doubt into which he again relapsed, his bleeding heartclamoured yet more loudly, ever and ever repeating with the deliriouscrowd: "Lord, son of David, heal our sick!--Lord, son of David, heal oursick!"

At that moment a tumult arose agitating one and all. People shuddered, faces were turned and raised. It was the cross of the four-o'clockprocession, a little behind time that day, appearing from beneath one ofthe arches of the monumental gradient way. There was such applause andsuch violent, instinctive pushing that Berthaud, waving his arms, commanded the bearers to thrust the crowd back by pulling strongly on thecords. Overpowered for a moment, the bearers had to throw themselvesbackward with sore hands; however, they ended by somewhat enlarging thereserved path, along which the procession was then able to slowly wendits way. At the head came a superb beadle, all blue and gold, followed bythe processional cross, a tall cross shining like a star. Then followedthe delegations of the different pilgrimages with their banners, standards of velvet and satin, embroidered with metal and bright silk, adorned with painted figures, and bearing the names of towns: Versailles, Rheims, Orleans, Poitiers, and Toulouse. One, which was quite white, magnificently rich, displayed in red letters the inscription "Associationof Catholic Working Men's Clubs. " Then came the clergy, two or threehundred priests in simple cassocks, about a hundred in surplices, andsome fifty clothed in golden chasubles, effulgent like stars. They allcarried lighted candles, and sang the "Laudate Sion Salvatorem" in fullvoices. And then the canopy appeared in royal pomp, a canopy of purplesilk, braided with gold, and upheld by four ecclesiastics, who, it couldbe seen, had been selected from among the most robust. Beneath it, between two other priests who assisted him, was Abbe Judaine, vigorouslyclasping the Blessed Sacrament with both hands, as Berthaud hadrecommended him to do; and the somewhat uneasy glances that he cast onthe encroaching crowd right and left showed how anxious he was that noinjury should befall the heavy divine monstrance, whose weight wasalready straining his wrists. When the slanting sun fell upon him infront, the monstrance itself looked like another sun. Choir-boys meantimewere swinging censers in the blinding glow which gave splendour to theentire procession; and, finally, in the rear, there was a confused massof pilgrims, a flock-like tramping of believers and sightseers allaflame, hurrying along, and blocking the track with their ever-rollingwaves. 

Father Massias had returned to the pulpit a moment previously; and thistime he had devised another pious exercise. After the burning cries offaith, hope, and love that he threw forth, he all at once commandedabsolute silence, in order that one and all might, with closed lips, speak to God in secret for a few minutes. These sudden spells of silencefalling upon the vast crowd, these minutes of mute prayer, in which allsouls unbosomed their secrets, were deeply, wonderfully impressive. Theirsolemnity became formidable; you heard desire, the immense desire forlife, winging its flight on high. Then Father Massias invited the sickalone to speak, to implore God to grant them what they asked of Hisalmighty power. And, in response, came a pitiful lamentation, hundreds oftremulous, broken voices rising amidst a concert of sobs. "Lord Jesus, ifit please Thee, Thou canst cure me!"--"Lord Jesus take pity on Thy child, who is dying of love!"--"Lord Jesus, grant that I may see, grant that Imay hear, grant that I may walk!" And, all at once, the shrill voice of alittle girl, light and vivacious as the notes of a flute, rose above theuniversal sob, repeating in the distance: "Save the others, save theothers, Lord Jesus!" Tears streamed from every eye; these supplicationsupset all hearts, threw the hardest into the frenzy of charity, into asublime disorder which would have impelled them to open their breastswith both hands, if by doing so they could have given their neighbourstheir health and youth. And then Father Massias, not letting thisenthusiasm abate, resumed his cries, and again lashed the delirious crowdwith them; while Father Fourcade himself sobbed on one of the steps ofthe pulpit, raising his streaming face to heaven as though to command Godto descend on earth. 

But the procession had arrived; the delegations, the priests, had rangedthemselves on the right and left; and, when the canopy entered the spacereserved to the sick in front of the Grotto, when the sufferers perceivedJesus the Host, the Blessed Sacrament, shining like a sun, in the handsof Abbe Judaine, it became impossible to direct the prayers, all voicesmingled together, and all will was borne away by vertigo. The cries, calls, entreaties broke, lapsing into groans. Human forms rose frompallets of suffering; trembling arms were stretched forth; clenched handsseemingly desired to clutch at the miracle on the way. "Lord Jesus, saveus, for we perish!"--"Lord Jesus, we worship Thee; heal us!"--"LordJesus, Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God; heal us!" Thricedid the despairing, exasperated voices give vent to the supremelamentation in a clamour which rushed up to Heaven; and the tearsredoubled, flooding all the burning faces which desire transformed. Atone moment, the delirium became so great, the instinctive leap toward theBlessed Sacrament seemed so irresistible, that Berthaud placed thebearers who were there in a chain about it. This was the extremeprotective manoeuvre, a hedge of bearers drawn up on either side of thecanopy, each placing an arm firmly round his neighbour's neck, so as toestablish a sort of living wall. Not the smallest aperture was left init; nothing whatever could pass. Still, these human barriers staggeredunder the pressure of the unfortunate creatures who hungered for life, who wished to touch, to kiss Jesus; and, oscillating and recoiling, thebearers were at last thrust against the canopy they were defending, andthe canopy itself began swaying among the crowd, ever in danger of beingswept away like some holy bark in peril of being wrecked. 

Then, at the very climax of this holy frenzy, the miracles began amidstsupplications and sobs, as when the heavens open during a storm, and athunderbolt falls on earth. A paralytic woman rose and cast aside hercrutches. There was a piercing yell, and another woman appeared erect onher mattress, wrapped in a white blanket as in a winding sheet; andpeople said it was a half-dead consumptive who had thus beenresuscitated. Then grace fell upon two others in quick succession: ablind woman suddenly perceived the Grotto in a flame; a dumb woman fellon both her knees, thanking the Blessed Virgin in a loud, clear voice. And all in a like way prostrated themselves at the feet of Our Lady ofLourdes, distracted with joy and gratitude. 

But Pierre had not taken his eyes off Marie, and he was overcome withtender emotion at what he saw. The sufferer's eyes were stillexpressionless, but they had dilated, while her poor, pale face, with itsheavy mask, was contracted as if she were suffering frightfully. She didnot speak in her despair; she undoubtedly thought that she was again inthe clutches of her ailment. But all at once, when the Blessed Sacramentpassed by, and she saw the star-like monstrance sparkling in the sun, asensation of dizziness came over her. She imagined herself struck bylightning. Her eyes caught fire from the glare which flashed upon her, and at last regained their flame of life, shining out like stars. Andunder the influence of a wave of blood her face became animated, suffusedwith colour, beaming with a smile of joy and health. And, suddenly, Pierre saw her rise, stand upright in her little car, staggering, stuttering, and finding in her mind only these caressing words: "Oh, myfriend! Oh, my friend!"

He hurriedly drew near in order to support her. But she drove him backwith a gesture. She was regaining strength, looking so touching, sobeautiful, in the little black woollen gown and slippers which she alwayswore; tall and slender, too, and crowned as with a halo of gold by herbeautiful flaxen hair, which was covered with a simple piece of lace. Thewhole of her virgin form was quivering as if some powerful fermentationhad regenerated her. First of all, it was her legs that were relieved ofthe chains that bound them; and then, while she felt the spirit oflife--the life of woman, wife, and mother--within her, there came a finalagony, an enormous weight that rose to her very throat. Only, this time, it did not linger there, did not stifle her, but burst from her openmouth, and flew away in a cry of sublime joy. 

"I am cured!--I am cured!"

Then there was an extraordinary sight. The blanket lay at her feet, shewas triumphant, she had a superb, glowing face. And her cry of cure hadresounded with such rapturous delight that the entire crowd wasdistracted by it. She had become the sole point of interest, the otherssaw none but her, erect, grown so radiant and so divine. 

"I am cured!--I am cured!"

Pierre, at the violent shock his heart had received, had begun to weep. Indeed, tears glistened again in every eye. Amidst exclamations ofgratitude and praise, frantic enthusiasm passed from one to another, throwing the thousands of pilgrims who pressed forward to see into astate of violent emotion. Applause broke out, a fury of applause, whosethunder rolled from one to the other end of the valley. 

However, Father Fourcade began waving his arms, and Father Massias was atlast able to make himself heard from the pulpit: "God has visited us, mydear brothers, my dear sisters!" said he. "_Magnificat anima meaDominum_, My soul doth magnify the Lord, and my spirit hath rejoiced inGod my Saviour. "

And then all the voices, the thousands of voices, began the chant ofadoration and gratitude. The procession found itself at a stand-still. Abbe Judaine had been able to reach the Grotto with the monstrance, buthe patiently remained there before giving the Benediction. The canopy wasawaiting him outside the railings, surrounded by priests in surplices andchasubles, all a glitter of white and gold in the rays of the settingsun. 

Marie, however, had knelt down, sobbing; and, whilst the canticle lasted, a burning prayer of faith and love ascended from her whole being. But thecrowd wanted to see her walk, delighted women called to her, a groupsurrounded her, and swept her towards the Verification Office, so thatthe miracle might be proved true, as patent as the very light of the sun. Her box was forgotten, Pierre followed her, while she, stammering andhesitating, she who for seven years had not used her legs, advanced withadorable awkwardness, the uneasy, charming gait of a little child makingits first steps; and it was so affecting, so delicious, that the youngpriest thought of nothing but the immense happiness of seeing her thusreturn to her childhood. Ah! the dear friend of infancy, the deartenderness of long ago, so she would at last be the beautiful andcharming woman that she had promised to be as a young girl when, in thelittle garden at Neuilly, she had looked so gay and pretty beneath thetall trees flecked with sunlight!

The crowd continued to applaud her furiously, a huge wave of peopleaccompanied her; and all remained awaiting her egress, swarming in afever before the door, when she had entered the office, whither Pierreonly was admitted with her. 

That particular afternoon there were few people at the VerificationOffice. The small square room, with its hot wooden walls and rudimentaryfurniture, its rush-bottomed chairs, and its two tables of unequalheight, contained, apart from the usual staff only some five or sixdoctors, seated and silent. At the tables were the inspector of thepiscinas and two young Abbes making entries in the registers, andconsulting the sets of documents; while Father Dargeles, at one end, wrote a paragraph for his newspaper. And, as it happened, Doctor Bonamywas just then examining Elise Rouquet, who, for the third time, had cometo have the increasing cicatrisation of her sore certified. 

"Anyhow, gentlemen, " exclaimed the doctor, "have you ever seen a lupusheal in this way so rapidly? I am aware that a new work has appeared onfaith healing in which it is stated that certain sores may have a nervousorigin. Only that is by no means proved in the case of lupus, and I defya committee of doctors to assemble and explain mademoiselle's cure byordinary means. "

He paused, and turning towards Father Dargeles, inquired: "Have younoted, Father, that the suppuration has completely disappeared, and thatthe skin is resuming its natural colour?"

However, he did not wait for the reply, for just then Marie entered, followed by Pierre; and by her beaming radiance he immediately guessedwhat good-fortune was befalling him. She looked superb, admirably fittedto transport and convert the multitude. He therefore promptly dismissedElise Rouquet, inquired the new arrival's name, and asked one of theyoung priests to look for her papers. Then, as she slightly staggered, hewished to seat her in the arm-chair. 

"Oh no! oh no!" she exclaimed. "I am so happy to be able to use my legs!"

Pierre, with a glance, had sought for Doctor Chassaigne, whom he wassorry not to see there. He remained on one side, waiting while theyrummaged in the untidy drawers without being able to place their hands onthe required papers. "Let's see, " repeated Dr. Bonamy; "Marie deGuersaint, Marie de Guersaint. I have certainly seen that name before. "

At last Raboin discovered the documents classified under a wrong letter;and when the doctor had perused the two medical certificates he becamequite enthusiastic. "Here is something very interesting, gentlemen, " saidhe. "I beg you to listen attentively. This young lady, whom you seestanding here, was afflicted with a very serious lesion of the marrow. And, if one had the least doubt of it, these two certificates wouldsuffice to convince the most incredulous, for they are signed by twodoctors of the Paris faculty, whose names are well known to us all. "

Then he passed the certificates to the doctors present, who read them, wagging their heads the while. It was beyond dispute; the medical men whohad drawn up these documents enjoyed the reputation of being honest andclever practitioners. 

"Well, gentlemen, if the diagnosis is not disputed--and it cannot be whena patient brings us documents of this value--we will now see what changehas taken place in the young lady's condition. "

However, before questioning her he turned towards Pierre. "Monsieurl'Abbe, " said he, "you came from Paris with Mademoiselle de Guersaint, Ithink. Did you converse with the doctors before your departure?"

The priest shuddered amidst all his great delight. 

"I was present at the consultation, monsieur, " he replied. 

And again the scene rose up before him. He once more saw the two doctors, so serious and rational, and he once more saw Beauclair smiling, whilehis colleagues drew up their certificates, which were identical. And washe, Pierre, to reduce these certificates to nothing, reveal the otherdiagnosis, the one that allowed of the cure being explainedscientifically? The miracle had been predicted, shattered beforehand. 

"You will observe, gentlemen, " now resumed Dr. Bonamy, "that the presenceof the Abbe gives these proofs additional weight. However, mademoisellewill now tell us exactly what she felt. "

He had leant over Father Dargeles's shoulder to impress upon him that hemust not forget to make Pierre play the part of a witness in thenarrative. 

"_Mon Dieu_! gentlemen, how can I tell you?" exclaimed Marie in a haltingvoice, broken by her surging happiness. "Since yesterday I had feltcertain that I should be cured. And yet, a little while ago, when thepins and needles seized me in the legs again, I was afraid it might onlybe another attack. For an instant I doubted. Then the feeling stopped. But it began again as soon as I recommenced praying. Oh! I prayed, Iprayed with all my soul! I ended by surrendering myself like a child. 'Blessed Virgin, Our Lady of Lourdes, do with me as thou wilt, ' I said. But the feeling did not cease, it seemed as if my blood were boiling; avoice cried to me: 'Rise! Rise!' And I felt the miracle fall on me in acracking of all my bones, of all my flesh, as if I had been struck bylightning. "

Pierre, very pale, listened to her. Beauclair had positively told himthat the cure would come like a lightning flash, that under the influenceof extreme excitement a sudden awakening of will so long somnolent wouldtake place within her. 

"It was my legs which the Holy Virgin first of all delivered, " shecontinued. "I could well feel that the iron bands which bound them weregliding along my skin like broken chains. Then the weight which stillsuffocated me, there, in the left side, began to ascend; and I thought Iwas going to die, it hurt me so. But it passed my chest, it passed mythroat, and I felt it there in my mouth, and spat it out violently. Itwas all over, I no longer had any pain, it had flown away!"

She had made a gesture expressive of the motion of a night bird beatingits wings, and, lapsing into silence, stood smiling at Pierre, who wasbewildered. Beauclair had told him all that beforehand, using almost thesame words and the same imagery. Point by point, his prognostics wererealised, there was nothing more in the case than natural phenomena, which had been foreseen. 

Raboin, however, had followed Marie's narrative with dilated eyes and thepassion of a pietist of limited intelligence, ever haunted by the idea ofhell. "It was the devil, " he cried; "it was the devil that she spat out!"

Doctor Bonamy, who was more wary, made him hold his tongue. And turningtowards the doctors he said: "Gentlemen, you know that we always avoidpronouncing the big word of miracle here. Only here is a fact, and I amcurious to know how any of you can explain it by natural means. Sevenyears ago this young lady was struck with serious paralysis, evidentlydue to a lesion of the marrow. And that cannot be denied; thecertificates are there, irrefutable. She could no longer walk, she couldno longer make a movement without a cry of pain, she had reached thatextreme state of exhaustion which precedes but by little an unfortunateissue. All at once, however, here she rises, walks, laughs, and beams onus. The paralysis has completely disappeared, no pain remains, she is aswell as you and I. Come, gentlemen, approach, examine her, and tell mewhat has happened. "

He triumphed. Not one of the doctors spoke. Two, who were doubtless trueCatholics, had shown their approval of his speech by their vigorous nods, while the others remained motionless, with a constrained air, not caringto mix themselves up in the business. However, a little thin man, whoseeyes shone behind the glasses he was wearing, ended by rising to take acloser look at Marie. He caught hold of her hand, examined the pupils ofher eyes, and merely seemed preoccupied by the air of transfigurationwhich she wore. Then, in a very courteous manner, without even showing adesire to discuss the matter, he came back and sat down again. 

"The case is beyond science, that is all I can assume, " concluded DoctorBonamy, victoriously. "I will add that we have no convalescence here;health is at once restored, full, entire. Observe the young lady. Hereyes are bright, her colour is rosy, her physiognomy has recovered itslively gaiety. Without doubt, the healing of the tissues will proceedsomewhat slowly, but one can already say that mademoiselle has been bornagain. Is it not so, Monsieur l'Abbe, you who have seen her sofrequently; you no longer recognise her, eh?"

"That's true, that's true, " stammered Pierre. 

And, in fact, she already appeared strong to him, her cheeks full andfresh, gaily blooming. But Beauclair had also foreseen this sudden joyfulchange, this straightening and resplendency of her invalid frame, whenlife should re-enter it, with the will to be cured and be happy. Onceagain, however, had Doctor Bonamy leant over Father Dargeles, who wasfinishing his note, a brief but fairly complete account of the affair. They exchanged a few words in low tones, consulting together, and thedoctor ended by saying: "You have witnessed these marvels, Monsieurl'Abbe, so you will not refuse to sign the careful report which thereverend Father has drawn up for publication in the 'Journal de laGrotte. '"

He--Pierre--sign that page of error and falsehood! A revolt roused him, and he was on the point of shouting out the truth. But he felt the weightof his cassock on his shoulders; and, above all, Marie's divine joyfilled his heart. He was penetrated with deep happiness at seeing hersaved. Since they had ceased questioning her she had come and leant onhis arm, and remained smiling at him with eyes full of enthusiasm. 

"Oh, my, friend, thank the Blessed Virgin!" she murmured in a low voice. "She has been so good to me; I am now so well, so beautiful, so young!And how pleased my father, my poor father, will be!"

Then Pierre signed. Everything was collapsing within him, but it wasenough that she should be saved; he would have thought it sacrilegious tointerfere with the faith of that child, the great pure faith which hadhealed her. 

When Marie reappeared outside the office, the applause began afresh, thecrowd clapped their hands. It now seemed that the miracle was official. However, certain charitable persons, fearing that she might again fatigueherself and again require her little car, which she had abandoned beforethe Grotto, had brought it to the office, and when she found it there shefelt deeply moved. Ah! that box in which she had lived so many years, that rolling coffin in which she had sometimes imagined herself buriedalive, how many tears, how much despair, how many bad days it hadwitnessed! And, all at once, the idea occurred to her that it had so longbeen linked with her sufferings, it ought also to share her triumph. Itwas a sudden inspiration, a kind of holy folly, that made her seize thehandle. 

At that moment the procession passed by, returning from the Grotto, whereAbbe Judaine had pronounced the Benediction. And thereupon Marie, dragging the little car, placed herself behind the canopy. And, in herslippers, her head covered with a strip of lace, her bosom heaving, herface erect, glowing, and superb, she walked on behind the clergy, dragging after her that car of misery, that rolling coffin, in which shehad endured so much agony. And the crowd which acclaimed her, the franticcrowd, followed in her wake. 

IV. TRIUMPH--DESPAIR

PIERRE also had followed Marie, and like her was behind the canopy, carried along as it were by the blast of glory which made her drag herlittle car along in triumph. Every moment, however, there was so muchtempestuous pushing that the young priest would assuredly have fallen ifa rough hand had not upheld him. 

"Don't be alarmed, " said a voice; "give me your arm, otherwise you won'tbe able to remain on your feet. "

Pierre turned round, and was surprised to recognise Father Massias, whohad left Father Fourcade in the pulpit in order to accompany theprocession. An extraordinary fever was sustaining him, throwing himforward, as solid as a rock, with eyes glowing like live coals, and anexcited face covered with perspiration. 

"Take care, then!" he again exclaimed; "give me your arm. "

A fresh human wave had almost swept them away. And Pierre now yielded tothe support of this terrible enthusiast, whom he remembered as afellow-student at the seminary. What a singular meeting it was, and howgreatly he would have liked to possess that violent faith, that madfaith, which was making Massias pant, with his throat full of sobs, whilst he continued giving vent to the ardent entreaty "Lord Jesus, healour sick! Lord Jesus, heal our sick!"

There was no cessation of this cry behind the canopy, where there wasalways a crier whose duty it was to accord no respite to the slowclemency of Heaven. At times a thick voice full of anguish, and at othersa shrill and piercing voice, would arise. The Father's, which was animperious one, was now at last breaking through sheer emotion. 

"Lord Jesus, heal our sick! Lord Jesus, heal our sick!"

The rumour of Marie's wondrous cure, of the miracle whose fame wouldspeedily fill all Christendom, had already spread from one to the otherend of Lourdes; and from this had come the increased vertigo of themultitude, the attack of contagious delirium which now caused it to whirland rush toward the Blessed Sacrament like the resistless flux of arising tide. One and all yielded to the desire of beholding the Sacramentand touching it, of being cured and becoming happy. The Divinity waspassing; and now it was not merely a question of ailing beings glowingwith a desire for life, but a longing for happiness which consumed allpresent and raised them up with bleeding, open hearts and eager hands. 

Berthaud, who feared the excesses of this religious adoration, haddecided to accompany his men. He commanded them, carefully watching overthe double chain of bearers beside the canopy in order that it might notbe broken. 

"Close your ranks--closer--closer!" he called, "and keep your arms firmlylinked!"

These young men, chosen from among the most vigorous of the bearers, hadan extremely difficult duty to discharge. The wall which they formed, shoulder to shoulder, with arms linked at the waist and the neck, kept ongiving way under the involuntary assaults of the throng. Nobody, certainly, fancied that he was pushing, but there was constant eddying, and deep waves of people rolled towards the procession from afar andthreatened to submerge it. 

When the canopy had reached the middle of the Place du Rosaire, AbbeJudaine really thought that he would be unable to go any farther. Numerous conflicting currents had set in over the vast expanse, and werewhirling, assailing him from all sides, so that he had to halt under theswaying canopy, which shook like a sail in a sudden squall on the opensea. He held the Blessed Sacrament aloft with his numbed hands, eachmoment fearing that a final push would throw him over; for he fullyrealised that the golden monstrance, radiant like a sun, was the onepassion of all that multitude, the Divinity they demanded to kiss, inorder that they might lose themselves in it, even though they shouldannihilate it in doing so. Accordingly, while standing there, the priestanxiously turned his eyes on Berthaud. 

"Let nobody pass!" called the latter to the bearers--"nobody! The ordersare precise; you hear me?"

Voices, however, were rising in supplication on all sides, wretchedbeings were sobbing with arms outstretched and lips protruding, in thewild desire that they might be allowed to approach and kneel at thepriest's feet. What divine grace it would be to be thrown upon the groundand trampled under foot by the whole procession!* An infirm old mandisplayed his withered hand in the conviction that it would be made soundagain were he only allowed to touch the monstrance. A dumb woman wildlypushed her way through the throng with her broad shoulders, in order thatshe might loosen her tongue by a kiss. Others were shouting, imploring, and even clenching their fists in their rage with those cruel men whodenied cure to their bodily sufferings and their mental wretchedness. Theorders to keep them back were rigidly enforced, however, for the mostserious accidents were feared. 

 * One is here irresistibly reminded of the car of Juggernaut, and of the Hindoo fanatics throwing themselves beneath its wheels in the belief that they would thus obtain an entrance into Paradise. --Trans. 

"Nobody, nobody!" repeated Berthaud; "let nobody whatever pass!"

There was a woman there, however, who touched every heart withcompassion. Clad in wretched garments, bareheaded, her face wet withtears, she was holding in her arms a little boy of ten years or so, whoselimp, paralysed legs hung down inertly. The lad's weight was too greatfor one so weak as herself, still she did not seem to feel it. She hadbrought the boy there, and was now entreating the bearers with aninvincible obstinacy which neither words nor hustling could conquer. 

At last, as Abbe Judaine, who felt deeply moved, beckoned to her toapproach, two of the bearers, in deference to his compassion, drew apart, despite all the danger of opening a breach, and the woman then rushedforward with her burden, and fell in a heap before the priest. For amoment he rested the foot of the monstrance on the child's head, and themother herself pressed her eager, longing lips to it; and, as theystarted off again, she wished to remain behind the canopy, and followedthe procession, with streaming hair and panting breast, staggering thewhile under the heavy burden, which was fast exhausting her strength. 

They managed, with great difficulty, to cross the remainder of the Placedu Rosaire, and then the ascent began, the glorious ascent by way of themonumental incline; whilst upon high, on the fringe of heaven, theBasilica reared its slim spire, whence pealing bells were winging theirflight, sounding the triumphs of Our Lady of Lourdes. And now it wastowards an apotheosis that the canopy slowly climbed, towards the loftyportal of the high-perched sanctuary which stood open, face to face withthe Infinite, high above the huge multitude whose waves continued soaringacross the valley's squares and avenues. Preceding the processionalcross, the magnificent beadle, all blue and silver, was already rearingthe level of the Rosary cupola, the spacious esplanade formed by the roofof the lower church, across which the pilgrimage deputations began towind, with their bright-coloured silk and velvet banners waving in theruddy glow of the sunset. Then came the clergy, the priests in snowysurplices, and the priests in golden chasubles, likewise shining out likea procession of stars. And the censers swung, and the canopy continuedclimbing, without anything of its bearers being seen, so that it seemedas though a mysterious power, some troop of invisible angels, werecarrying it off in this glorious ascension towards the open portal ofheaven. 

A sound of chanting had burst forth; the voices in the procession nolonger called for the healing of the sick, now that the _cortege_ hadextricated itself from amidst the crowd. The miracle had been worked, andthey were celebrating it with the full power of their lungs, amidst thepealing of the bells and the quivering gaiety of the atmosphere. 

"_Magnificat anima mea Dominum_"--they began. "My soul doth magnify theLord. "

'Twas the song of gratitude, already chanted at the Grotto, and againspringing from every heart: "_Et exsultavit spiritus meus in Deo salutarimeo_. " "And my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour. "

Meantime it was with increasing, overflowing joy that Marie took part inthat radiant ascent, by the colossal gradient way, towards the glowingBasilica. It seemed to her, as she continued climbing, that she wasgrowing stronger and stronger, that her legs, so long lifeless, becamefirmer at each step. The little car which she victoriously dragged behindher was like the earthly tenement of her illness, the _inferno_ whencethe Blessed Virgin had extricated her, and although its handle was makingher hands sore, she nevertheless wished to pull it up yonder with her, inorder that she might cast it at last at the feet of the Almighty. Noobstacle could stay her course, she laughed through the big tears whichwere falling on her cheeks, her bosom was swelling, her demeanourbecoming warlike. One of her slippers had become unfastened, and thestrip of lace had fallen from her head to her shoulders. Nevertheless, with her lovely fair hair crowning her like a helmet and her face beamingbrightly, she still marched on and on with such an awakening of will andstrength that, behind her, you could hear her car leap and rattle overthe rough slope of the flagstones, as though it had been a mere toy. 

Near Marie was Pierre, still leaning on the arm of Father Massias, whohad not relinquished his hold. Lost amidst the far-spreading emotion, theyoung priest was unable to reflect. Moreover his companion's sonorousvoice quite deafened him. 

"_Deposuit potentes de sede et exaltavit humiles_. " "He hath put down themighty from their seat, and hath exalted the humble. "

On Pierre's other side, the right, Berthaud, who no longer had any causefor anxiety, was now also following the canopy. He had given his bearersorders to break their chain, and was gazing with an expression of delighton the human sea through which the procession had lately passed. Thehigher they the incline, the more did the Place du Rosaire and theavenues and paths of the gardens expand below them, black with theswarming multitude. It was a bird's-eye view of a whole nation, anant-hill which ever increased in size, spreading farther and fartheraway. "Look!" Berthaud at last exclaimed to Pierre. "How vast and howbeautiful it is! Ah! well, the year won't have been a bad one after all. "

Looking upon Lourdes as a centre of propaganda, where his politicalrancour found satisfaction, he always rejoiced when there was a numerouspilgrimage, as in his mind it was bound to prove unpleasant to theGovernment. Ah! thought he, if they had only been able to bring theworking classes of the towns thither, and create a Catholic democracy. "Last year we scarcely reached the figure of two hundred thousandpilgrims, " he continued, "but we shall exceed it this year, I hope. " Andthen, with the gay air of the jolly fellow that he was, despite hissectarian passions, he added: "Well, 'pon my word, I was really pleasedjust now when there was such a crush. Things are looking up, I thought, things are looking up. "

Pierre, however, was not listening to him; his mind had been struck bythe grandeur of the spectacle. That multitude, which spread out more andmore as the procession rose higher and higher above it, that magnificentvalley which was hollowed out below and ever became more and moreextensive, displaying afar off its gorgeous horizon of mountains, filledhim with quivering admiration. His mental trouble was increased by itall, and seeking Marie's glance, he waved his arm to draw her attentionto the vast circular expanse of country. And his gesture deceived her, for in the purely spiritual excitement that possessed her she did notbehold the material spectacle he pointed at, but thought that he wascalling earth to witness the prodigious favours which the Blessed Virginhad heaped upon them both; for she imagined that he had had his share ofthe miracle, and that in the stroke of grace which had set her erect withher flesh healed, he, so near to her that their hearts mingled, had felthimself enveloped and raised by the same divine power, his soul savedfrom doubt, conquered by faith once more. How could he have witnessed herwondrous cure, indeed, without being convinced? Moreover, she had prayedso fervently for him outside the Grotto on the previous night. And now, therefore, to her excessive delight, she espied him transfigured likeherself, weeping and laughing, restored to God again. And this lentincreased force to her blissful fever; she dragged her little car alongwith unwearying hands, and--as though it were their double cross, her ownredemption and her friend's redemption which she was carrying up thatincline with its resounding flagstones--she would have liked to drag ityet farther, for leagues and leagues, ever higher and higher, to the mostinaccessible summits, to the transplendent threshold of Paradise itself. 

"O Pierre, Pierre!" she stammered, "how sweet it is that this greathappiness should have fallen on us together--yes, together! I prayed forit so fervently, and she granted my prayer, and saved you even in savingme. Yes, I felt your soul mingling with my own. Tell me that our mutualprayers have been granted, tell me that I have won your salvation even asyou have won mine!"

He understood her mistake and shuddered. 

"If you only knew, " she continued, "how great would have been my griefhad I thus ascended into light alone. Oh! to be chosen without you, tosoar yonder without you! But with you, Pierre, it is rapturous delight!We have been saved together, we shall be happy forever! I feel allneedful strength for happiness, yes, strength enough to raise the world!"

And in spite of everything, he was obliged to answer her and lie, revolting at the idea of spoiling, dimming that great and pure felicity. "Yes, yes, be happy, Marie, " he said, "for I am very happy myself, andall our sufferings are redeemed. "

But even while he spoke he felt a deep rending within him, as though abrutal hatchet-stroke were parting them forever. Amidst their commonsufferings, she had hitherto remained the little friend of childhood'sdays, the first artlessly loved woman, whom he knew to be still his own, since she could belong to none. But now she was cured, and he remainedalone in his hell, repeating to himself that she would never more be his!This sudden thought so upset him that he averted his eyes, in despair atreaping such suffering from the prodigious felicity with which sheexulted. 

However the chant went on, and Father Massias, hearing nothing and seeingnothing, absorbed as he was in his glowing gratitude to God, shouted thefinal verse in a thundering voice: "_Sicut locutus est ad patres nostros, Abraham, et semini ejus in saecula_. " "As He spake to our fathers, toAbraham, and to his seed for ever!"

Yet another incline had to be climbed, yet another effort had to be madeup that rough acclivity, with its large slippery flagstones. And theprocession rose yet higher, and the ascent still went on in the full, bright light. There came a last turn, and the wheels of Marie's cargrated against a granite curb. Then, still higher, still and ever higher, did it roll until it finally reached what seemed to be the very fringe ofheaven. 

And all at once the canopy appeared on the summit of the giganticinclined ways, on the stone balcony overlooking the stretch of countryoutside the portal of the Basilica. Abbe Judaine stepped forward holdingthe Blessed Sacrament aloft with both hands. Marie, who had pulled hercar up the balcony steps, was near him, her heart beating from herexertion, her face all aglow amidst the gold of her loosened hair. Thenall the clergy, the snowy surplices, and the dazzling chasubles rangedthemselves behind, whilst the banners waved like bunting decking thewhite balustrades. And a solemn minute followed. 

From on high there could have been no grander spectacle. First, immediately below, there was the multitude, the human sea with its darkwaves, its heaving billows, now for a moment stilled, amidst which youonly distinguished the small pale specks of the faces uplifted towardsthe Basilica, in expectation of the Benediction; and as far as the eyecould reach, from the place du Rosaire to the Gave, along the paths andavenues and across the open spaces, even to the old town in the distance;those little pale faces multiplied and multiplied, all with lips parted, and eyes fixed upon the august heaven was about to open to their gaze. 

Then the vast amphitheatre of slopes and hills and mountains surgedaloft, ascended upon all sides, crests following crests, until they fadedaway in the far blue atmosphere. The numerous convents among the trees onthe first of the northern slopes, beyond the torrent--those of theCarmelites, the Dominicans, the Assumptionists, and the Sisters ofNevers--were coloured by a rosy reflection from the fire-like glow of thesunset. Then wooded masses rose one above the other, until they reachedthe heights of Le Buala, which were surmounted by the Serre de Julos, inits turn capped by the Miramont. 

Deep valleys opened on the south, narrow gorges between piles of giganticrocks whose bases were already steeped in lakes of bluish shadow, whilstthe summits sparkled with the smiling farewell of the sun. The hills ofVisens upon this side were empurpled, and shewed like a promontory ofcoral, in front of the stagnant lake of the ether, which was bright witha sapphire-like transparency. But, on the east, in front of you, thehorizon again spread out to the very point of intersection of the sevenvalleys. The castle which had formerly guarded them still stood with itskeep, its lofty walls, its black outlines--the outlines of a fiercefortress of feudal time, --upon the rock whose base was watered by theGave; and upon this side of the stern old pile was the new town, lookingquite gay amidst its gardens, with its swarm of white house-fronts, itslarge hotels, its lodging-houses, and its fine shops, whose windows wereglowing like live embers; whilst, behind the castle, the discolouredroofs of old Lourdes spread out in confusion, in a ruddy light whichhovered over them like a cloud of dust. At this late hour, when thedeclining luminary was sinking in royal splendour behind the little Gersand the big Gers, those two huge ridges of bare rock, spotted withpatches of short herbage, formed nothing but a neutral, somewhat violet, background, as though, indeed, they were two curtains of sober hue drawnacross the margin of the horizon. 

And higher and still higher, in front of this immensity, did Abbe Judainewith both hands raise the Blessed Sacrament. He moved it slowly from oneto the other horizon, causing it to describe a huge sign of the crossagainst the vault of heaven. He saluted the convents, the heights of LeBuala, the Serre de Julos, and the Miramont, upon his left; he salutedthe huge fallen rocks of the dim valleys, and the empurpled hills ofVisens, on his right; he saluted the new and the old town, the castlebathed by the Gave, the big and the little Gers, already drowsy, in frontof him; and he saluted the woods, the torrents, the mountains, the faintchains linking the distant peaks, the whole earth, even beyond thevisible horizon: Peace upon earth, hope and consolation to mankind! Themultitude below had quivered beneath that great sign of the cross whichenveloped it. It seemed as though a divine breath were passing, rollingthose billows of little pale faces which were as numerous as the waves ofan ocean. A loud murmur of adoration ascended; all those parted lipsproclaimed the glory of God when, in the rays of the setting sun, theillumined monstrance again shone forth like another sun, a sun of puregold, describing the sign of the cross in streaks of flame upon thethreshold of the Infinite. 

The banners, the clergy, with Abbe Judaine under the canopy, were alreadyreturning to the Basilica, when Marie, who was also entering it, stilldragging her car by the handle, was stopped by two ladies, who kissedher, weeping. They were Madame de Jonquiere and her daughter Raymonde, who had come thither to witness the Benediction, and had been told of themiracle. 

"Ah! my dear child, what happiness!" repeated the lady-hospitaller; "andhow proud I am to have you in my ward! It is so precious a favour for allof us that the Blessed Virgin should have been pleased to select you. "

Raymonde, meanwhile, had kept one of the young girl's hands in her own. "Will you allow me to call you my friend, mademoiselle?" said she. "Ifelt so much pity for you, and I am now so pleased to see you walking, sostrong and beautiful already. Let me kiss you again. It will bring mehappiness. "

"Thank you, thank you with all my heart, " Marie stammered amidst herrapture. "I am so happy, so very happy!"

"Oh! we will not leave you, " resumed Madame de Jonquiere. "You hear me, Raymonde? We must follow her, and kneel beside her, and we will take herback after the ceremony. "

Thereupon the two ladies joined the _cortege_, and, following the canopy, walked beside Pierre and Father Massias, between the rows of chairs whichthe deputations already occupied, to the very centre of the choir. Thebanners alone were allowed on either side of the high altar; but Marieadvanced to its steps, still dragging her car, whose wheels resoundedover the flagstones. She had at last brought it to the spot whither thesacred madness of her desire had longingly impelled her to drag it. Shehad brought it, indeed, woeful, wretched-looking as it was, into thesplendour of God's house, so that it might there testify to the truth ofthe miracle. The threshold had scarcely been crossed when the organsburst into a hymn of triumph, the sonorous acclamation of a happy people, from amidst which there soon arose a celestial, angelic voice, of joyfulshrillness and crystalline purity. Abbe Judaine had placed the BlessedSacrament upon the altar, and the crowd was streaming into the nave, eachtaking a seat, installing him or herself in a corner, pending thecommencement of the ceremony. Marie had at once fallen on her kneesbetween Madame de Jonquiere and Raymonde, whose eyes were moist withtender emotion; whilst Father Massias, exhausted by the extraordinarytension of the nerves which had been sustaining him ever since hisdeparture from the Grotto, had sunk upon the ground, sobbing, with hishead between his hands. Behind him Pierre and Berthaud remained standing, the latter still busy with his superintendence, his eyes ever on thewatch, seeing that good order was preserved even during the most violentoutbursts of emotion. 

Then, amidst all his mental confusion, increased by the deafening strainsof the organ, Pierre raised his head and examined the interior of theBasilica. The nave was narrow and lofty, and streaked with brightcolours, which numerous windows flooded with light. There were scarcelyany aisles; they were reduced to the proportions of a mere passagerunning between the side-chapels and the clustering columns, and thiscircumstance seemed to increase the slim loftiness of the nave, thesoaring of the stonework in perpendicular lines of infantile, gracefulslenderness. A gilded railing, as transparent as lace, closed the choir, where the high altar, of white marble richly sculptured, arose in all itslavish chasteness. But the feature of the building which astonished youwas the mass of extraordinary ornamentation which transformed the wholeof it into an overflowing exhibition of embroidery and jewellery. Whatwith all the banners and votive offerings, the perfect river of giftswhich had flowed into it and remained clinging to its walls in a streamof gold and silver, velvet and silk, covering it from top to bottom, itwas, so to say, the ever-glowing sanctuary of gratitude, whose thousandrich adornments seemed to be chanting a perpetual canticle of faith andthankfulness. 

The banners, in particular, abounded, as innumerable as the leaves oftrees. Some thirty hung from the vaulted roof, whilst others weresuspended, like pictures, between the little columns around thetriforium. And others, again, displayed themselves on the walls, waved inthe depths of the side-chapels, and encompassed the choir with a heavenof silk, satin, and velvet. You could count them by hundreds, and youreyes grew weary of admiring them. Many of them were quite celebrated, sorenowned for their skilful workmanship that talented embroideresses tookthe trouble to come to Lourdes on purpose to examine them. Among thesewere the banner of our Lady of Fourvieres, bearing the arms of the cityof Lyons; the banner of Alsace, of black velvet embroidered with gold;the banner of Lorraine, on which you beheld the Virgin casting her cloakaround two children; and the white and blue banner of Brittany, on whichbled the sacred heart of Jesus in the midst of a halo. All empires andkingdoms of the earth were represented; the most distant lands--Canada, Brazil, Chili, Haiti--here had their flags, which, in all piety, werebeing offered as a tribute of homage to the Queen of Heaven. 

Then, after the banners, there were other marvels, the thousands andthousands of gold and silver hearts which were hanging everywhere, glittering on the walls like stars in the heavens. Some were groupedtogether in the form of mystical roses, others described festoons andgarlands, others, again, climbed up the pillars, surrounded the windows, and constellated the deep, dim chapels. Below the triforium somebody hadhad the ingenious idea of employing these hearts to trace in tall lettersthe various words which the Blessed Virgin had addressed to Bernadette;and thus, around the nave, there extended a long frieze of words, thedelight of the infantile minds which busied themselves with spellingthem. It was a swarming, a prodigious resplendency of hearts, whoseinfinite number deeply impressed you when you thought of all the hands, trembling with gratitude, which had offered them. Moreover, theadornments comprised many other votive offerings, and some of quite anunexpected description. There were bridal wreaths and crosses of honour, jewels and photographs, chaplets, and even spurs, in glass cases orframes. There were also the epaulets and swords of officers, togetherwith a superb sabre, left there in memory of a miraculous conversion. 

But all this was not sufficient; other riches, riches of every kind, shone out on all sides--marble statues, diadems enriched with brilliants, a marvellous carpet designed at Blois and embroidered by ladies of allparts of France, and a golden palm with ornaments of enamel, the gift ofthe sovereign pontiff. The lamps suspended from the vaulted roof, some ofthem of massive gold and the most delicate workmanship, were also gifts. They were too numerous to be counted, they studded the nave with stars ofgreat price. Immediately in front of the tabernacle there was one, amasterpiece of chasing, offered by Ireland. Others--one from Lille, onefrom Valence, one from Macao in far-off China--were veritable jewels, sparkling with precious stones. And how great was the resplendency whenthe choir's score of chandeliers was illumined, when the hundreds oflamps and the hundreds of candles burned all together, at the greatevening ceremonies! The whole church then became a conflagration, thethousands of gold and silver hearts reflecting all the little flames withthousands of fiery scintillations. It was like a huge and wondrousbrasier; the walls streamed with live flakes of light; you seemed to beentering into the blinding glory of Paradise itself; whilst on all sidesthe innumerable banners spread out their silk, their satin, and theirvelvet, embroidered with sanguifluous sacred hearts, victorious saints, and Virgins whose kindly smiles engendered miracles. 

Ah! how many ceremonies had already displayed their pomp in thatBasilica! Worship, prayer, chanting, never ceased there. From one end ofthe year to the other incense smoked, organs roared, and kneelingmultitudes prayed there with their whole souls. Masses, vespers, sermons, were continually following one upon another; day by day the religiousexercises began afresh, and each festival of the Church was celebratedwith unparalleled magnificence. The least noteworthy anniversary supplieda pretext for pompous solemnities. Each pilgrimage was granted its shareof the dazzling resplendency. It was necessary that those suffering onesand those humble ones who had come from such long distances should besent home consoled and enraptured, carrying with them a vision ofParadise espied through its opening portals. They beheld the luxurioussurroundings of the Divinity, and would forever remain enraptured by thesight. In the depths of bare, wretched rooms, indeed, by the side ofhumble pallets of suffering throughout all Christendom, a vision of theBasilica with its blazing riches continually arose like a vision offortune itself, like a vision of the wealth of that life to be, intowhich the poor would surely some day enter after their long, long miseryin this terrestrial sphere. 

Pierre, however, felt no delight; no consolation, no hope, came to him ashe gazed upon all the splendour. His frightful feeling of discomfort wasincreasing, all was becoming black within him, with that blackness of thetempest which gathers when men's thoughts and feelings pant and shriek. He had felt immense desolation rising in his soul ever since Marie, crying that she was healed, had risen from her little car and walkedalong with such strength and fulness of life. Yet he loved her like apassionately attached brother, and had experienced unlimited happiness onseeing that she no longer suffered. Why, therefore, should her felicitybring him such agony? He could now no longer gaze at her, kneeling there, radiant amidst her tears, with beauty recovered and increased, withouthis poor heart bleeding as from some mortal wound. Still he wished toremain there, and so, averting his eyes, he tried to interest himself inFather Massias, who was still shaking with violent sobbing on theflagstones, and whose prostration and annihilation, amidst the consumingillusion of divine love, he sorely envied. For a moment, moreover, hequestioned Berthaud, feigning to admire some banner and requestinginformation respecting it. 

"Which one?" asked the superintendent of the bearers; "that lace bannerover there?"

"Yes, that one on the left. "

"Oh! it is a banner offered by Le Puy. The arms are those of Le Puy andLourdes linked together by the Rosary. The lace is so fine that if youcrumpled the banner up, you could hold it in the hollow of your hand. "

However, Abbe Judaine was now stepping forward; the ceremony was about tobegin. Again did the organs resound, and again was a canticle chanted, whilst, on the altar, the Blessed Sacrament looked like the sovereignplanet amidst the scintillations of the gold and silver hearts, asinnumerable as stars. And then Pierre lacked the strength to remain thereany longer. Since Marie had Madame de Jonquiere and Raymonde with her, and they would accompany her back, he might surely go off by himself, vanish into some shadowy corner, and there, at last, vent his grief. In afew words he excused himself, giving his appointment with DoctorChassaigne as a pretext for his departure. However, another fear suddenlycame to him, that of being unable to leave the building, so densely didthe serried throng of believers bar the open doorway. But immediatelyafterwards he had an inspiration, and, crossing the sacristy, descendedinto the crypt by the narrow interior stairway. 

Deep silence and sepulchral gloom suddenly succeeded to the joyous chantsand prodigious radiance of the Basilica above. Cut in the rock, the cryptformed two narrow passages, parted by a massive block of stone whichupheld the nave, and conducting to a subterranean chapel under the apse, where some little lamps remained burning both day and night. A dim forestof pillars rose up there, a mystic terror reigned in that semi-obscuritywhere the mystery ever quivered. The chapel walls remained bare, like thevery stones of the tomb, in which all men must some day sleep the lastsleep. And along the passages, against their sides, covered from top tobottom with marble votive offerings, you only saw a double row ofconfessionals; for it was here, in the lifeless tranquillity of thebowels of the earth, that sins were confessed; and there were priests, speaking all languages, to absolve the sinners who came thither from thefour corners of the world. 

At that hour, however, when the multitude was thronging the Basilicaabove, the crypt had become quite deserted. Not a soul, save Pierre's, throbbed there ever so faintly; and he, amidst that deep silence, thatdarkness, that coolness of the grave, fell upon his knees. It was not, however, through any need of prayer and worship, but because his wholebeing was giving way beneath his crushing mental torment. He felt atorturing longing to be able to see clearly within himself. Ah! why couldhe not plunge even more deeply into the heart of things, reflect, understand, and at last calm himself. 

And it was a fearful agony that he experienced. He tried to remember allthe minutes that had gone by since Marie, suddenly springing from herpallet of wretchedness, had raised her cry of resurrection. Why had heeven then, despite his fraternal joy in seeing her erect, felt such anawful sensation of discomfort, as though, indeed, the greatest of allpossible misfortunes had fallen upon him? Was he jealous of the divinegrace? Did he suffer because the Virgin, whilst healing her, hadforgotten him, whose soul was so afflicted? He remembered how he hadgranted himself a last delay, fixed a supreme appointment with Faith forthe moment when the Blessed Sacrament should pass by, were Marie onlycured; and she was cured, and still he did not believe, and henceforththere was no hope, for never, never would he be able to believe. Thereinlay the bare, bleeding sore. The truth burst upon him with blindingcruelty and certainty--she was saved, he was lost. That pretended miraclewhich had restored her to life had, in him, completed the ruin of allbelief in the supernatural. That which he had, for a moment, dreamed ofseeking, and perhaps finding, at Lourdes, --naive faith, the happy faithof a little child, --was no longer possible, would never bloom again afterthat collapse of the miraculous, that cure which Beauclair had foretold, and which had afterwards come to pass, exactly as had been predicted. Jealous! No--he was not jealous; but he was ravaged, full of mortalsadness at thus remaining all alone in the icy desert of hisintelligence, regretting the illusion, the lie, the divine love of thesimpleminded, for which henceforth there was no room in his heart. 

A flood of bitterness stifled him, and tears started from his eyes. Hehad slipped on to the flagstones, prostrated by his anguish. And, bydegrees, he remembered the whole delightful story, from the day whenMarie, guessing how he was tortured by doubt, had become so passionatelyeager for his conversion, taking hold of his hand in the gloom, retainingit in her own, and stammering that she would pray for him--oh! pray forhim with her whole soul. She forgot herself, she entreated the BlessedVirgin to save her friend rather than herself if there were but one gracethat she could obtain from her Divine Son. Then came another memory, thememory of the delightful hours which they had spent together amid thedense darkness of the trees during the night procession. There, again, they had prayed for one another, mingled one in the other with so ardenta desire for mutual happiness that, for a moment, they had attained tothe very depths of the love which gives and immolates itself. And nowtheir long, tear-drenched tenderness, their pure idyl of suffering, wasending in this brutal separation; she on her side saved, radiant amidstthe hosannas of the triumphant Basilica; and he lost, sobbing withwretchedness, bowed down in the depths of the dark crypt in an icy, grave-like solitude. It was as though he had just lost her again, andthis time forever and forever. 

All at once Pierre felt the sharp stab which this thought dealt hisheart. He at last understood his pain--a sudden light illumined theterrible crisis of woe amidst which he was struggling. He had lost Mariefor the first time on the day when he had become a priest, saying tohimself that he might well renounce his manhood since she, stricken inher sex by incurable illness, would never be a woman. But behold! she_was_ cured. Behold! she _had_ become a woman. She had all at onceappeared to him very strong, very beautiful, living, and desirable. He, who was dead, however, could not become a man again. Never more would hebe able to raise the tombstone which crushed and imprisoned his flesh. She fled away alone, leaving him in the cold grave. The whole wide worldwas opening before her with smiling happiness, with the love which laughsin the sunlit paths, with the husband, with children, no doubt. Whereashe, buried, as it were to his shoulders, had naught of his body free, save his brain, and that remained free, no doubt, in order that he mightsuffer the more. She had still been his so long as she had not belongedto another; and if he had been enduring such agony during the past hour, it was only through this final rending which, this time, parted her fromhim forever and forever. 

Then rage shook Pierre from head to foot. He was tempted to return to theBasilica, and cry the truth aloud to Marie. The miracle was a lie! Thehelpful beneficence of an all-powerful Divinity was but so much illusion!Nature alone had acted, life had conquered once again. And he would havegiven proofs: he would have shown how life, the only sovereign, workedfor health amid all the sufferings of this terrestrial sphere. And thenthey would have gone off together; they would have fled far, far away, that they might be happy. But a sudden terror took possession of him. What! lay hands upon that little spotless soul, kill all belief in it, fill it with the ruins which worked such havoc in his own soul? It all atonce occurred to him that this would be odious sacrilege. He wouldafterwards become horrified with himself, he would look upon himself asher murderer were he some day to realise that he was unable to give her ahappiness equal to that which she would have lost. Perhaps, too, shewould not believe him. And, moreover, would she ever consent to marry apriest who had broken his vows? She who would always retain the sweet andnever-to be-forgotten memory of how she had been healed in ecstasy! Hisdesign then appeared to him insane, monstrous, polluting. And his revoltrapidly subsided, until he only retained a feeling of infinite weariness, a sensation of a burning, incurable wound--the wound of his poor, bruised, lacerated heart. 

Then, however, amidst his abandonment, the void in which he was whirling, a supreme struggle began, filling him again with agony. What should hedo? His sufferings made a coward of him, and he would have liked to flee, so that he might never see Marie again. For he understood very well thathe would now have to lie to her, since she thought that he was saved likeherself, converted, healed in soul, even as she had been healed in body. She had told him of her joy while dragging her car up the colossalgradient way. Oh! to have had that great happiness together, together; tohave felt their hearts melt and mingle one in the other! And even then hehad already lied, as he would always be obliged to lie in order that hemight not spoil her pure and blissful illusion. He let the lastthrobbings of his veins subside, and vowed that he would find sufficientstrength for the sublime charity of feigning peacefulness of soul, therapture of one who is redeemed. For he wished her to be whollyhappy--without a regret, without a doubt--in the full serenity of faith, convinced that the blessed Virgin had indeed given her consent to theirpurely mystical union. What did his torments matter? Later on, perhaps, he might recover possession of himself. Amidst his desolate solitude ofmind would there not always be a little joy to sustain him, all that joywhose consoling falsity he would leave to her?

Several minutes again elapsed, and Pierre, still overwhelmed, remained onthe flagstones, seeking to calm his fever. He no longer thought, he nolonger lived; he was a prey to that prostration of the entire being whichfollows upon great crises. But, all at once, he fancied he could hear asound of footsteps, and thereupon he painfully rose to his feet, andfeigned to be reading the inscriptions graven in the marble votive slabsalong the walls. He had been mistaken--nobody was there; nevertheless, seeking to divert his mind, he continued perusing the inscriptions, atfirst in a mechanical kind of way, and then, little by little, feeling afresh emotion steal over him. 

The sight was almost beyond imagination. Faith, love, and gratitudedisplayed themselves in a hundred, a thousand ways on these marble slabswith gilded lettering. Some of the inscriptions were so artless as toprovoke a smile. A colonel had sent a sculptured representation of hisfoot with the words: "Thou hast preserved it; grant that it may serveThee. " Farther on you read the line: "May Her protection extend to theglass trade. " And then, by the frankness of certain expressions ofthanks, you realised of what a strange character the appeals had been. "To Mary the Immaculate, " ran one inscription, "from a father of afamily, in recognition of health restored, a lawsuit won, and advancementgained. " However, the memory of these instances faded away amidst thechorus of soaring, fervent cries. There was the cry of the lovers: "Pauland Anna entreat Our Lady of Lourdes to bless their union. " There was thecry of the mothers in various forms: "Gratitude to Mary, who has thricehealed my child. "--"Gratitude to Mary for the birth of Antoinette, whom Idedicate, like myself and all my kin, to Her. "--"P. D. , three years old, has been preserved to the love of his parents. " And then came the cry ofthe wives, the cry, too, of the sick restored to health, and of the soulsrestored to happiness: "Protect my husband; grant that my husband mayenjoy good health. "--"I was crippled in both legs, and now I amhealed. "--"We came, and now we hope. "--"I prayed, I wept, and She heardme. " And there were yet other cries, cries whose veiled glow conjured upthoughts of long romances: "Thou didst join us together; protect us, wepray Thee. "--"To Mary, for the greatest of all blessings. " And the samecries, the same words--gratitude, thankfulness, homage, acknowledgment, --occurred again and again, ever with the same passionatefervour. All! those hundreds, those thousands of cries which were forevergraven on that marble, and from the depths of the crypt rose clamorouslyto the Virgin, proclaiming the everlasting devotion of the unhappy beingswhom she had succoured. 

Pierre did not weary of reading them, albeit his mouth was bitter andincreasing desolation was filling him. So it was only he who had nosuccour to hope for! When so many sufferers were listened to, he alonehad been unable to make himself heard! And he now began to think of theextraordinary number of prayers which must be said at Lourdes from oneend of the year to the other. He tried to cast them up; those said duringthe days spent at the Grotto and during the nights spent at the Rosary, those said at the ceremonies at the Basilica, and those said at thesunlight and the starlight processions. But this continual entreaty ofevery second was beyond computation. It seemed as if the faithful weredetermined to weary the ears of the Divinity, determined to extortfavours and forgiveness by the very multitude, the vast multitude oftheir prayers. The priests said that it was necessary to offer to God theacts of expiation which the sins of France required, and that when thenumber of these acts of expiation should be large enough, God would smiteFrance no more. What a harsh belief in the necessity of chastisement!What a ferocious idea born of the gloomiest pessimism! How evil life mustbe if it were indeed necessary that such imploring cries, such cries ofphysical and moral wretchedness, should ever and ever ascend to Heaven!

In the midst of all his sadness, Pierre felt deep compassion penetratehis heart. He was upset by the thought that mankind should be sowretched, reduced to such a state of woe, so bare, so weak, so utterlyforsaken, that it renounced its own reason to place the one solepossibility of happiness in the hallucinatory intoxication of dreams. Tears once more filled his eyes; he wept for himself and for others, forall the poor tortured beings who feel a need of stupefying and numbingtheir pains in order to escape from the realities of the world. He againseemed to hear the swarming, kneeling crowd of the Grotto, raising theglowing entreaty of its prayer to Heaven, the multitude of twenty andthirty thousand souls from whose midst ascended such a fervour of desirethat you seemed to see it smoking in the sunlight like incense. Thenanother form of the exaltation of faith glowed, beneath the crypt, in theChurch of the Rosary, where nights were spent in a paradise of rapture, amidst the silent delights of the communion, the mute appeals in whichthe whole being pines, burns, and soars aloft. And as though the criesraised before the Grotto and the perpetual adoration of the Rosary werenot sufficient, that clamour of ardent entreaty burst forth afresh on thewalls of the crypt around him; and here it was eternised in marble, hereit would continue shrieking the sufferings of humanity even into thefar-away ages. It was the marble, it was the walls themselves praying, seized by that shudder of universal woe which penetrated even the world'sstones. And, at last, the prayers ascended yet higher, still higher, soared aloft from the radiant Basilica, which was humming and buzzingabove him, full as it now was of a frantic multitude, whose mighty voice, bursting into a canticle of hope, he fancied he could hear through theflagstones of the nave. And it finally seemed to him that he was beingwhirled away, transported, as though he were indeed amidst the veryvibrations of that huge wave of prayer, which, starting from the dust ofthe earth, ascended the tier of superposed churches, spreading fromtabernacle to tabernacle, and filling even the walls with such pity thatthey sobbed aloud, and that the supreme cry of wretchedness pierced itsway into heaven with the white spire, the lofty golden cross, above thesteeple. O Almighty God, O Divinity, Helpful Power, whoever, whateverThou mayst be, take pity upon poor mankind and make human sufferingcease!

All at once Pierre was dazzled. He had followed the left-hand passage, and was coming out into broad daylight, above the inclined ways, and twoaffectionate arms at once caught hold of him and clasped him. It wasDoctor Chassaigne, whose appointment he had forgotten, and who had beenwaiting there to take him to visit Bernadette's room and Abbe Peyramale'schurch. "Oh! what joy must be yours, my child!" exclaimed the good oldman. "I have just learnt the great news, the extraordinary favour whichOur Lady of Lourdes has granted to your young friend. Recollect what Itold you the day before yesterday. I am now at ease--you are saved!"

A last bitterness came to the young priest who was very pale. However, hewas able to smile, and he gently answered: "Yes, we are saved, we arevery happy. "

It was the lie beginning; the divine illusion which in a spirit ofcharity he wished to give to others. 

And then one more spectacle met Pierre's eyes. The principal door of theBasilica stood wide open, and a red sheet of light from the setting sunwas enfilading the nave from one to the other end. Everything was flaringwith the splendour of a conflagration--the gilt railings of the choir, the votive offerings of gold and silver, the lamps enriched with preciousstones, the banners with their bright embroideries, and the swingingcensers, which seemed like flying jewels. And yonder, in the depths ofthis burning splendour, amidst the snowy surplices and the goldenchasubles, he recognised Marie, with hair unbound, hair of gold like allelse, enveloping her in a golden mantle. And the organs burst into a hymnof triumph; and the delirious people acclaimed God; and Abbe Judaine, whohad again just taken the Blessed Sacrament from off the altar, raised italoft and presented it to their gaze for the last time; and radiantlymagnificent it shone out like a glory amidst the streaming gold of theBasilica, whose prodigious triumph all the bells proclaimed in clanging, flying peals. 

V. CRADLE AND GRAVE

IMMEDIATELY afterwards, as they descended the steps, Doctor Chassaignesaid to Pierre: "You have just seen the triumph; I will now show you twogreat injustices. "

And he conducted him into the Rue des Petits-Fosses to visit Bernadette'sroom, that low, dark chamber whence she set out on the day the BlessedVirgin appeared to her. 

The Rue des Petits-Fosses starts from the former Rue des Bois, now theRue de la Grotte, and crosses the Rue du Tribunal. It is a winding lane, slightly sloping and very gloomy. The passers-by are few; it is skirtedby long walls, wretched-looking houses, with mournful facades in whichnever a window opens. All its gaiety consists in an occasional tree in acourtyard. 

"Here we are, " at last said the doctor. 

At the part where he had halted, the street contracted, becoming verynarrow, and the house faced the high, grey wall of a barn. Raising theirheads, both men looked up at the little dwelling, which seemed quitelifeless, with its narrow casements and its coarse, violet pargeting, displaying the shameful ugliness of poverty. The entrance passage downbelow was quite black; an old light iron gate was all that closed it; andthere was a step to mount, which in rainy weather was immersed in thewater of the gutter. 

"Go in, my friend, go in, " said the doctor. "You have only to push thegate. "

The passage was long, and Pierre kept on feeling the damp wall with hishand, for fear of making a false step. It seemed to him as if he weredescending into a cellar, in deep obscurity, and he could feel a slipperysoil impregnated with water beneath his feet. Then at the end, inobedience to the doctor's direction, he turned to the right. 

"Stoop, or you may hurt yourself, " said M. Chassaigne; "the door is verylow. There, here we are. "

The door of the room, like the gate in the street, stood wide open, as ifthe place had been carelessly abandoned; and Pierre, who had stopped inthe middle of the chamber, hesitating, his eyes still full of the brightdaylight outside, could distinguish absolutely nothing. He had falleninto complete darkness, and felt an icy chill about the shoulders similarto the sensation that might be caused by a wet towel. 

But, little by little, his eyes became accustomed to the dimness. Twowindows of unequal size opened on to a narrow, interior courtyard, whereonly a greenish light descended, as at the bottom of a well; and to readthere, in the middle of the day, it would be necessary to have a candle. Measuring about fifteen feet by twelve, the room was flagged with largeuneven stones; while the principal beam and the rafters of the roof, which were visible, had darkened with time and assumed a dirty, sootyhue. Opposite the door was the chimney, a miserable plaster chimney, witha mantelpiece formed of a rotten old plank. There was a sink between thischimney and one of the windows. The walls, with their decaying, damp-stained plaster falling off by bits, were full of cracks, andturning a dirty black like the ceiling. There was no longer any furniturethere; the room seemed abandoned; you could only catch a glimpse of someconfused, strange objects, unrecognisable in the heavy obscurity thathung about the corners. 

After a spell of silence, the doctor exclaimed "Yes, this is the room;all came from here. Nothing has been changed, with the exception that thefurniture has gone. I have tried to picture how it was placed: the bedscertainly stood against this wall, opposite the windows; there must havebeen three of them at least, for the Soubirouses were seven--the father, mother, two boys, and three girls. Think of that! Three beds filling thisroom! Seven persons living in this small space! All of them buried alive, without air, without light, almost without bread! What frightful misery!What lowly, pity-awaking poverty!"

But he was interrupted. A shadowy form, which Pierre at first took for anold woman, entered. It was a priest, however, the curate of the parish, who now occupied the house. He was acquainted with the doctor. 

"I heard your voice, Monsieur Chassaigne, and came down, " said he. "Sothere you are, showing the room again?"

"Just so, Monsieur l' Abbe; I took the liberty. It does not inconvenienceyou?"

"Oh! not at all, not at all! Come as often as you please, and bring otherpeople. "

He laughed in an engaging manner, and bowed to Pierre, who, astonished bythis quiet carelessness, observed: "The people who come, however, mustsometimes plague you?"

The curate in his turn seemed surprised. "Indeed, no! Nobody comes. Yousee the place is scarcely known. Every one remains over there at theGrotto. I leave the door open so as not to be worried. But days and daysoften pass without my hearing even the sound of a mouse. "

Pierre's eyes were becoming more and more accustomed to the obscurity;and among the vague, perplexing objects which filled the corners, heended by distinguishing some old barrels, remnants of fowl cages, andbroken tools, a lot of rubbish such as is swept away and thrown to thebottom of cellars. Hanging from the rafters, moreover, were someprovisions, a salad basket full of eggs, and several bunches of big pinkonions. 

"And, from what I see, " resumed Pierre, with a slight shudder, "you havethought that you might make use of the room?"

The curate was beginning to feel uncomfortable. "Of course, that's it, "said he. "What can one do? The house is so small, I have so little space. And then you can't imagine how damp it is here; it is altogetherimpossible to occupy the room. And so, _mon Dieu_, little by little allthis has accumulated here by itself, contrary to one's own desire. "

"It has become a lumber-room, " concluded Pierre. 

"Oh no! hardly that. An unoccupied room, and yet in truth, if you insiston it, it is a lumber-room!"

His uneasiness was increasing, mingled with a little shame. DoctorChassaigne remained silent and did not interfere; but he smiled, and wasvisibly delighted at his companion's revolt against human ingratitude. Pierre, unable to restrain himself, now continued: "You must excuse me, Monsieur l'Abbe, if I insist. But just reflect that you owe everything toBernadette; but for her Lourdes would still be one of the least knowntowns of France. And really it seems to me that out of mere gratitude theparish ought to have transformed this wretched room into a chapel. "

"Oh! a chapel!" interrupted the curate. "It is only a question of a humancreature: the Church could not make her an object of worship. "

"Well, we won't say a chapel, then; but at all events there ought to besome lights and flowers--bouquets of roses constantly renewed by thepiety of the inhabitants and the pilgrims. In a word, I should like somelittle show of affection--a touching souvenir, a picture ofBernadette--something that would delicately indicate that she deserves tohave a place in all hearts. This forgetfulness and desertion areshocking. It is monstrous that so much dirt should have been allowed toaccumulate!"

The curate, a poor, thoughtless, nervous man, at once adopted Pierre'sviews: "In reality, you are a thousand times right, " said he; "but Imyself have no power, I can do nothing. Whenever they ask me for theroom, to set it to rights, I will give it up and remove my barrels, although I really don't know where else to put them. Only, I repeat, itdoes not depend on me. I can do nothing, nothing at all!" Then, under thepretext that he had to go out, he hastened to take leave and run awayagain, saying to Doctor Chassaigne: "Remain, remain as long as youplease; you are never in my way. "

When the doctor once more found himself alone with Pierre he caught holdof both his hands with effusive delight. "Ah, my dear child, " said he, "how pleased you have made me! How admirably you expressed to him allthat has been boiling in my own heart so long! Like you, I thought ofbringing some roses here every morning. I should have simply had the roomcleaned, and would have contented myself with placing two large bunchesof roses on the mantelpiece; for you know that I have long felt deepaffection for Bernadette, and it seemed to me that those roses would belike the very flowering and perfume of her memory. Only--only--" and sosaying he made a despairing gesture, "only courage failed me. Yes, I saycourage, no one having yet dared to declare himself openly against theFathers of the Grotto. One hesitates and recoils in the fear of stirringup a religious scandal. Fancy what a deplorable racket all this wouldcreate. And so those who are as indignant as I am are reduced to thenecessity of holding their tongues--preferring a continuance of silenceto anything else. " Then, by way of conclusion, he added: "The ingratitudeand rapacity of man, my dear child, are sad things to see. Each time Icome into this dim wretchedness, my heart swells and I cannot restrain mytears. "

He ceased speaking, and neither of them said another word, both beingovercome by the extreme melancholy which the surroundings fostered. Theywere steeped in gloom. The dampness made them shudder as they stood thereamidst the dilapidated walls and the dust of the old rubbish piled uponeither side. And the idea returned to them that without Bernadette noneof the prodigies which had made Lourdes a town unique in the world wouldhave existed. It was at her voice that the miraculous spring had gushedforth, that the Grotto, bright with candles, had opened. Immense workswere executed, new churches rose from the ground, giant-like causewaysled up to God. An entire new city was built, as if by enchantment, withgardens, walks, quays, bridges, shops, and hotels. And people from theuttermost parts of the earth flocked thither in crowds, and the rain ofmillions fell with such force and so abundantly that the young cityseemed likely to increase indefinitely--to fill the whole valley, fromone to the other end of the mountains. If Bernadette had been suppressednone of those things would have existed, the extraordinary story wouldhave relapsed into nothingness, old unknown Lourdes would still have beenplunged in the sleep of ages at the foot of its castle. Bernadette wasthe sole labourer and creatress; and yet this room, whence she had setout on the day she beheld the Virgin, this cradle, indeed, of the miracleand of all the marvellous fortune of the town, was disdained, left a preyto vermin, good only for a lumber-room, where onions and empty barrelswere put away. 

Then the other side of the question vividly appeared in Pierre's mind, and he again seemed to see the triumph which he had just witnessed, theexaltation of the Grotto and Basilica, while Marie, dragging her littlecar, ascended behind the Blessed Sacrament, amidst the clamour of themultitude. But the Grotto especially shone out before him. It was nolonger the wild, rocky cavity before which the child had formerly knelton the deserted bank of the torrent; it was a chapel, transformed andenriched, a chapel illumined by a vast number of candles, where nationsmarched past in procession. All the noise, all the brightness, all theadoration, all the money, burst forth there in a splendour of constantvictory. Here, at the cradle, in this dark, icy hole, there was not asoul, not a taper, not a hymn, not a flower. Of the infrequent visitorswho came thither, none knelt or prayed. All that a few tender-heartedpilgrims had done in their desire to carry away a souvenir had been toreduce to dust, between their fingers, the half-rotten plank serving as amantelshelf. The clergy ignored the existence of this spot of misery, which the processions ought to have visited as they might visit a stationof glory. It was there that the poor child had begun her dream, one coldnight, lying in bed between her two sisters, and seized with a fit of herailment while the whole family was fast asleep. It was thence, too, thatshe had set out, unconsciously carrying along with her that dream, whichwas again to be born within her in the broad daylight and to flower soprettily in a vision such as those of the legends. And no one nowfollowed in her footsteps. The manger was forgotten, and left indarkness--that manger where had germed the little humble seed which overyonder was now yielding such prodigious harvests, reaped by the workmenof the last hour amidst the sovereign pomp of ceremonies. 

Pierre, whom the great human emotion of the story moved to tears, at lastsummed up his thoughts in three words, saying in a low voice, "It isBethlehem. "

"Yes, " remarked Doctor Chassaigne, in his turn, "it is the wretchedlodging, the chance refuge, where new religions are born of suffering andpity. And at times I ask myself if all is not better thus: if it is notbetter that this room should remain in its actual state of wretchednessand abandonment. It seems to me that Bernadette has nothing to lose byit, for I love her all the more when I come to spend an hour here. "

He again became silent, and then made a gesture of revolt: "But no, no! Icannot forgive it--this ingratitude sets me beside myself. I told you Iwas convinced that Bernadette had freely gone to cloister herself atNevers. But although no one smuggled her away, what a relief it was forthose whom she had begun to inconvenience here! And they are the samemen, so anxious to be the absolute masters, who at the present timeendeavour by all possible means to wrap her memory in silence. Ah! mydear child, if I were to tell you all!"

Little by little he spoke out and relieved himself. Those Fathers of theGrotto, who showed such greed in trading on the work of Bernadette, dreaded her still more now that she was dead than they had done whilstshe was alive. So long as she had lived, their great terror had assuredlybeen that she might return to Lourdes to claim a portion of the spoil;and her humility alone reassured them, for she was in nowise of adomineering disposition, and had herself chosen the dim abode ofrenunciation where she was destined to pass away. But at present theirfears had increased at the idea that a will other than theirs might bringthe relics of the visionary back to Lourdes; that, thought had, indeed, occurred to the municipal council immediately after her death; the townhad wished to raise a tomb, and there had been talk of opening asubscription. The Sisters of Nevers, however, formally refused to give upthe body, which they said belonged to them. Everyone felt that theSisters were acting under the influence of the Fathers, who were veryuneasy, and energetically bestirred themselves to prevent by all means intheir power the return of those venerated ashes, in whose presence atLourdes they foresaw a possible competition with the Grotto itself. Couldthey have imagined some such threatening occurrence as this--a monumentaltomb in the cemetery, pilgrims proceeding thither in procession, the sickfeverishly kissing the marble, and miracles being worked there amidst aholy fervour? This would have been disastrous rivalry, a certaindisplacement of all the present devotion and prodigies. And the great, the sole fear, still and ever returned to them, that of having to dividethe spoils, of seeing the money go elsewhere should the town, now taughtby experience, know how to turn the tomb to account. 

The Fathers were even credited with a scheme of profound craftiness. Theywere supposed to have the secret idea of reserving Bernadette's remainsfor themselves; the Sisters of Nevers having simply undertaken to keep itfor them within the peaceful precincts of their chapel. Only, they werewaiting, and would not bring it back until the affluence of the pilgrimsshould decrease. What was the use of a solemn return at present, whencrowds flocked to the place without interruption and in increasingnumbers? Whereas, when the extraordinary success of Our Lady of Lourdesshould decline, like everything else in this world, one could imaginewhat a reawakening of faith would attend the solemn, resounding ceremonyat which Christendom would behold the relics of the chosen one takepossession of the soil whence she had made so many marvels spring. Andthe miracles would then begin again on the marble of her tomb before theGrotto or in the choir of the Basilica. 

"You may search, " continued Doctor Chassaigne, "but you won't find asingle official picture of Bernadette at Lourdes. Her portrait is sold, but it is hung no where, in no sanctuary. It is systematic forgetfulness, the same sentiment of covert uneasiness as that which has wrought silenceand abandonment in this sad chamber where we are. In the same way as theyare afraid of worship at her tomb, so are they afraid of crowds comingand kneeling here, should two candles burn or a couple of bouquets ofroses bloom upon this chimney. And if a paralytic woman were to riseshouting that she was cured, what a scandal would arise, how disturbedwould be those good traders of the Grotto on seeing their monopolyseriously threatened! They are the masters, and the masters they intendto remain; they will not part with any portion of the magnificent farmthat they have acquired and are working. Nevertheless they tremble--yes, they tremble at the memory of the workers of the first hour, of thatlittle girl who is still so great in death, and for whose hugeinheritance they burn with such greed that after having sent her to liveat Nevers, they dare not even bring back her corpse, but leave itimprisoned beneath the flagstones of a convent!"

Ah! how wretched was the fate of that poor creature, who had been cut offfrom among the living, and whose corpse in its turn was condemned toexile! And how Pierre pitied her, that daughter of misery, who seemed tohave been chosen only that she might suffer in her life and in her death!Even admitting that an unique, persistent will had not compelled her todisappear, still guarding her even in her tomb, what a strange successionof circumstances there had been--how it seemed as if someone, uneasy atthe idea of the immense power she might grasp, had jealously sought tokeep her out of the way! In Pierre's eyes she remained the chosen one, the martyr; and if he could no longer believe, if the history of thisunfortunate girl sufficed to complete within him the ruin of his faith, it none the less upset him in all his brotherly love for mankind byrevealing a new religion to him, the only one which might still fill hisheart, the religion of life, of human sorrow. 

Just then, before leaving the room, Doctor Chassaigne exclaimed: "Andit's here that one must believe, my dear child. Do you see this obscurehole, do you think of the resplendent Grotto, of the triumphant Basilica, of the town built, of the world created, the crowds that flock toLourdes! And if Bernadette was only hallucinated, only an idiot, wouldnot the outcome be more astonishing, more inexplicable still? What! Anidiot's dream would have sufficed to stir up nations like this! No! no!The Divine breath which alone can explain prodigies passed here. "

Pierre was on the point of hastily replying "Yes!" It was true, a breathhad passed there, the sob of sorrow, the inextinguishable yearningtowards the Infinite of hope. If the dream of a suffering child hadsufficed to attract multitudes, to bring about a rain of millions andraise a new city from the soil, was it not because this dream in ameasure appeased the hunger of poor mankind, its insatiable need of beingdeceived and consoled? She had once more opened the Unknown, doubtless ata favourable moment both socially and historically; and the crowds hadrushed towards it. Oh! to take refuge in mystery, when reality is sohard, to abandon oneself to the miraculous, since cruel nature seemsmerely one long injustice! But although you may organise the Unknown, reduce it to dogmas, make revealed religions of it, there is neveranything at the bottom of it beyond the appeal of suffering, the cry oflife, demanding health, joy, and fraternal happiness, and ready to acceptthem in another world if they cannot be obtained on earth. What use is itto believe in dogmas? Does it not suffice to weep and love?

Pierre, however, did not discuss the question. He withheld the answerthat was on his lips, convinced, moreover, that the eternal need of thesupernatural would cause eternal faith to abide among sorrowing mankind. The miraculous, which could not be verified, must be a food necessary tohuman despair. Besides, had he not vowed in all charity that he would notwound anyone with his doubts?

"What a prodigy, isn't it?" repeated the doctor. 

"Certainly, " Pierre ended by answering. "The whole human drama has beenplayed, all the unknown forces have acted in this poor room, so damp anddark. "

They remained there a few minutes more in silence; they walked round thewalls, raised their eyes toward the smoky ceiling, and cast a finalglance at the narrow, greenish yard. Truly it was a heart-rending sight, this poverty of the cobweb level, with its dirty old barrels, itsworn-out tools, its refuse of all kinds rotting in the corners in heaps. And without adding a word they at last slowly retired, feeling extremelysad. 

It was only in the street that Doctor Chassaigne seemed to awaken. Hegave a slight shudder and hastened his steps, saying: "It is notfinished, my dear child; follow me. We are now going to look at the othergreat iniquity. " He referred to Abbe Peyramale and his church. 

They crossed the Place du Porche and turned into the Rue Saint Pierre; afew minutes would suffice them. But their conversation had again fallenon the Fathers of the Grotto, on the terrible, merciless war waged byFather Sempe against the former Cure of Lourdes. The latter had beenvanquished, and had died in consequence, overcome by feelings offrightful bitterness; and, after thus killing him by grief, they hadcompleted the destruction of his church, which he had left unfinished, without a roof, open to the wind and to the rain. With what a gloriousdream had that monumental edifice filled the last year of the Cure'slife! Since he had been dispossessed of the Grotto, driven from the workof Our Lady of Lourdes, of which he, with Bernadette, had been the firstartisan, his church had become his revenge, his protestation, his ownshare of the glory, the House of the Lord where he would triumph in hissacred vestments, and whence he would conduct endless processions incompliance with the formal desire of the Blessed Virgin. Man of authorityand domination as he was at bottom, a pastor of the multitude, a builderof temples, he experienced a restless delight in hurrying on the work, with the lack of foresight of an eager man who did not allow indebtednessto trouble him, but was perfectly contented so long as he always had aswarm of workmen busy on the scaffoldings. And thus he saw his churchrise up, and pictured it finished, one bright summer morning, all new inthe rising sun. 

Ah! that vision constantly evoked gave him courage for the struggle, amidst the underhand, murderous designs by which he felt himself to beenveloped. His church, towering above the vast square, at last rose inall its colossal majesty. He had decided that it should be in theRomanesque style, very large, very simple, its nave nearly three hundredfeet long, its steeple four hundred and sixty feet high. It shone outresplendently in the clear sunlight, freed on the previous day of thelast scaffolding, and looking quite smart in its newness, with its broadcourses of stone disposed with perfect regularity. And, in thought, hesauntered around it, charmed with its nudity, its stupendous candour, itschasteness recalling that of a virgin child, for there was not a piece ofsculpture, not an ornament that would have uselessly loaded it. The roofsof the nave, transept, and apse were of equal height above theentablature, which was decorated with simple mouldings. In the same waythe apertures in the aisles and nave had no other adornments thanarchivaults with mouldings, rising above the piers. He stopped in thoughtbefore the great coloured glass windows of the transept, whose roses weresparkling; and passing round the building he skirted the semicircularapse against which stood the vestry building with its two rows of littlewindows; and then he returned, never tiring of his contemplation of thatregal ordonnance, those great lines standing out against the blue sky, those superposed roofs, that enormous mass of stone, whose soliditypromised to defy centuries. But, when he closed his eyes he, above allelse, conjured up, with rapturous pride, a vision of the facade andsteeple; down below, the three portals, the roofs of the two lateral onesforming terraces, while from the central one, in the very middle of thefacade, the steeple boldly sprang. Here again columns resting on pierssupported archivaults with simple mouldings. Against the gable, at apoint where there was a pinnacle, and between the two lofty windowslighting the nave, was a statue of Our Lady of Lourdes under a canopy. Upabove, were other bays with freshly painted luffer-boards. Buttressesstarted from the ground at the four corners of the steeple-base, becomingless and less massive from storey to storey, till they reached the spire, a bold, tapering spire in stone, flanked by four turrets and adorned withpinnacles, and soaring upward till it vanished in the sky. And to theparish priest of Lourdes it seemed as if it were his own fervent soulwhich had grown and flown aloft with this spire, to testify to his faiththroughout the ages, there on high, quite close to God. 

At other times another vision delighted him still more. He thought hecould see the inside of his church on the day of the first solemn mass hewould perform there. The coloured windows threw flashes of fire brilliantlike precious stones; the twelve chapels, the aisles, were beaming withlighted candles. And he was at the high altar of marble and gold; and thefourteen columns of the nave in single blocks of Pyrenean marble, magnificent marble purchased with money that had come from the fourcorners of Christendom, rose up supporting the vaulted roof, while thesonorous voices of the organs filled the whole building with a hymn ofjoy. A multitude of the faithful was gathered there, kneeling on theflags in front of the choir, which was screened by ironwork as delicateas lace, and covered with admirably carved wood. The pulpit, the regalpresent of a great lady, was a marvel of art cut in massive oak. Thebaptismal fonts had been hewn out of hard stone by an artist of greattalent. Pictures by masters ornamented the walls. Crosses, pyxes, precious monstrances, sacred vestments, similar to suns, were piled up inthe vestry cupboards. And what a dream it was to be the pontiff of such atemple, to reign there after having erected it with passion, to bless thecrowds who hastened to it from the entire earth, while the flying pealsfrom the steeple told the Grotto and Basilica that they had over there, in old Lourdes, a rival, a victorious sister, in whose great nave Godtriumphed also!

After following the Rue Saint Pierre for a moment, Doctor Chassaigne andhis companion turned into the little Rue de Langelle. 

"We are coming to it, " said the doctor. But though Pierre looked aroundhim he could see no church. There were merely some wretched hovels, awhole district of poverty, littered with foul buildings. At length, however, at the bottom of a blind alley, he perceived a remnant of thehalf-rotten palings which still surrounded the vast square site borderedby the Rue Saint Pierre, the Rue de Bagneres, the Rue de Langelle, andthe Rue des Jardins. 

"We must turn to the left, " continued the doctor, who had entered anarrow passage among the rubbish. "Here we are!"

And the ruin suddenly appeared amidst the ugliness and wretchedness thatmasked it. 

The whole great carcase of the nave and the aisles, the transept and theapse was standing. The walls rose on all sides to the point where thevaulting would have begun. You entered as into a real church, you couldwalk about at ease, identifying all the usual parts of an edifice of thisdescription. Only when you raised your eyes you saw the sky; the roofswere wanting, the rain could fall and the wind blow there freely. Somefifteen years previously the works had been abandoned, and things hadremained in the same state as the last workman had left them. What struckyou first of all were the ten pillars of the nave and the four pillars ofthe choir, those magnificent columns of Pyrenean marble, each of a singleblock, which had been covered with a casing of planks in order to protectthem from damage. The bases and capitals were still in the rough, awaiting the sculptors. And these isolated columns, thus cased in wood, had a mournful aspect indeed. Moreover, a dismal sensation filled you atsight of the whole gaping enclosure, where grass had sprung up all overthe ravaged, bumpy soil of the aisles and the nave, a thick cemeterygrass, through which the women of the neighbourhood had ended by makingpaths. They came in to spread out their washing there. And even now acollection of poor people's washing--thick sheets, shirts in shreds, andbabies' swaddling clothes--was fast drying in the last rays of the sun, which glided in through the broad, empty bays. 

Slowly, without speaking, Pierre and Doctor Chassaigne walked round theinside of the church. The ten chapels of the aisles formed a species ofcompartments full of rubbish and remnants. The ground of the choir hadbeen cemented, doubtless to protect the crypt below againstinfiltrations; but unfortunately the vaults must be sinking; there was ahollow there which the storm of the previous night had transformed into alittle lake. However, it was these portions of the transept and the apsewhich had the least suffered. Not a stone had moved; the great centralrose windows above the triforium seemed to be awaiting their colouredglass, while some thick planks, forgotten atop of the walls of the apse, might have made anyone think that the workmen would begin covering it thenext day. But, when Pierre and the doctor had retraced their steps, andwent out to look at the facade, the lamentable woefulness of the youngruin was displayed to their gaze. On this side, indeed, the works had notbeen carried forward to anything like the same extent: the porch with itsthree portals alone was built, and fifteen years of abandonment hadsufficed for the winter weather to eat into the sculptures, the smallcolumns and the archivaults, with a really singular destructive effect, as though the stones, deeply penetrated, destroyed, had melted awaybeneath tears. The heart grieved at the sight of the decay which hadattacked the work before it was even finished. Not yet to be, andnevertheless to crumble away in this fashion under the sky! To bearrested in one's colossal growth, and simply strew the weeds with ruins!

They returned to the nave, and were overcome by the frightful sadnesswhich this assassination of a monument provoked. The spacious plot ofwaste ground inside was littered with the remains of scaffoldings, whichhad been pulled down when half rotten, in fear lest their fall mightcrush people; and everywhere amidst the tall grass were boards, put-logs, moulds for arches, mingled with bundles of old cord eaten away by damp. There was also the long narrow carcase of a crane rising up like agibbet. Spade-handles, pieces of broken wheelbarrows, and heaps ofgreenish bricks, speckled with moss and wild convolvuli in bloom, werestill lying among the forgotten materials. In the beds of nettles youhere and there distinguished the rails of a little railway laid down forthe trucks, one of which was lying overturned in a corner. But thesaddest sight in all this death of things was certainly the portableengine which had remained in the shed that sheltered it. For fifteenyears it had been standing there cold and lifeless. A part of the roof ofthe shed had ended by falling in upon it, and now the rain drenched it atevery shower. A bit of the leather harness by which the crane was workedhung down, and seemed to bind the engine like a thread of some giganticspider's web. And its metal-work, its steel and copper, was alsodecaying, as if rusted by lichens, covered with the vegetation of oldage, whose yellowish patches made it look like a very ancient, grass-grown machine which the winters had preyed upon. This lifelessengine, this cold engine with its empty firebox and its silent boiler, was like the very soul of the departed labour vainly awaiting the adventof some great charitable heart, whose coming through the eglantine andthe brambles would awaken this sleeping church in the wood from its heavyslumber of ruin. 

At last Doctor Chassaigne spoke: "Ah!" he said, "when one thinks thatfifty thousand francs would have sufficed to prevent such a disaster!With fifty thousand francs the roof could have been put on, the heavywork would have been saved, and one could have waited patiently. But theywanted to kill the work just as they had killed the man. " With a gesturehe designated the Fathers of the Grotto, whom he avoided naming. "And tothink, " he continued, "that their annual receipts are eight hundredthousand francs. However, they prefer to send presents to Rome topropitiate powerful friends there. "

In spite of himself, he was again opening hostilities against theadversaries of Cure Peyramale. The whole story caused a holy anger ofjustice to haunt him. Face to face with those lamentable ruins, hereturned to the facts--the enthusiastic Cure starting on the building ofhis beloved church, and getting deeper and deeper into debt, whilstFather Sempe, ever on the lookout, took advantage of each of hismistakes, discrediting him with the Bishop, arresting the flow ofofferings, and finally stopping the works. Then, after the conquered manwas dead, had come interminable lawsuits, lawsuits lasting fifteen years, which gave the winters time to devour the building. And now it was insuch a woeful state, and the debt had risen to such an enormous figure, that all seemed over. The slow death, the death of the stones, wasbecoming irrevocable. The portable engine beneath its tumbling shed wouldfall to pieces, pounded by the rain and eaten away by the moss. 

"I know very well that they chant victory, " resumed the doctor; "thatthey alone remain. It is just what they wanted--to be the absolutemasters, to have all the power, all the money for themselves alone. I maytell you that their terror of competition has even made them intrigueagainst the religious Orders that have attempted to come to Lourdes. Jesuits, Dominicans, Benedictines, Capuchins, and Carmelites have madeapplications at various times, and the Fathers of the Grotto have alwayssucceeded in keeping them away. They only tolerate the female Orders, andwill only have one flock. And the town belongs to them; they have openedshop there, and sell God there wholesale and retail!"

Walking slowly, he had while speaking returned to the middle of the nave, amidst the ruins, and with a sweeping wave of the arm he pointed to allthe devastation surrounding him. "Look at this sadness, this frightfulwretchedness! Over yonder the Rosary and Basilica cost them threemillions of francs. "*

 * About 580, 000 dollars. 

Then, as in Bernadette's cold, dark room, Pierre saw the Basilica risebefore him, radiant in its triumph. It was not here that you found therealisation of the dream of Cure Peyramale, officiating and blessingkneeling multitudes while the organs resounded joyfully. The Basilica, over yonder, appeared, vibrating with the pealing of its bells, clamorouswith the superhuman joy of an accomplished miracle, all sparkling withits countless lights, its banners, its lamps, its hearts of silver andgold, its clergy attired in gold, and its monstrance akin to a goldenstar. It flamed in the setting sun, it touched the heavens with itsspire, amidst the soaring of the milliards of prayers which caused itswalls to quiver. Here, however, was the church that had died before beingborn, the church placed under interdict by a mandamus of the Bishop, thechurch falling into dust, and open to the four winds of heaven. Eachstorm carried away a little more of the stones, big flies buzzed allalone among the nettles which had invaded the nave; and there were noother devotees than the poor women of the neighbourhood, who came thitherto turn their sorry linen, spread upon the grass. 

It seemed amidst the mournful silence as though a low voice were sobbing, perhaps the voice of the marble columns weeping over their useless beautyunder their wooden shirts. At times birds would fly across the desertedapse uttering a shrill cry. Bands of enormous rats which had taken refugeunder bits of the lowered scaffoldings would fight, and bite, and boundout of their holes in a gallop of terror. And nothing could have been moreheart-rending than the sight of this pre-determined ruin, face to facewith its triumphant rival, the Basilica, which beamed with gold. 

Again Doctor Chassaigne curtly said, "Come. "

They left the church, and following the left aisle, reached a door, roughly fashioned out of a few planks nailed together; and, when they hadpassed down a half-demolished wooden staircase, the steps of which shookbeneath their feet, they found themselves in the crypt. 

It was a low vault, with squat arches, on exactly the same plan as thechoir. The thick, stunted columns, left in the rough, also awaited theirsculptors. Materials were lying about, pieces of wood were rotting on thebeaten ground, the whole vast hall was white with plaster in theabandonment in which unfinished buildings are left. At the far end, threebays, formerly glazed, but in which not a pane of glass remained, threw aclear, cold light upon the desolate bareness of the walls. 

And there, in the middle, lay Cure Peyramale's corpse. Some pious friendshad conceived the touching idea of thus burying him in the crypt of hisunfinished church. The tomb stood on a broad step and was all marble. Theinscriptions, in letters of gold, expressed the feelings of thesubscribers, the cry of truth and reparation that came from the monumentitself. You read on the face: "This tomb has been erected by the aid ofpious offerings from the entire universe to the blessed memory of thegreat servant of Our Lady of Lourdes. " On the right side were these wordsfrom a Brief of Pope Pius IX. : "You have entirely devoted yourself toerecting a temple to the Mother of God. " And on the left were these wordsfrom the New Testament: "Happy are they who suffer persecution forjustice' sake. " Did not these inscriptions embody the true plaint, thelegitimate hope of the vanquished man who had fought so long in the soledesire of strictly executing the commands of the Virgin as transmitted tohim by Bernadette? She, Our Lady of Lourdes, was there personified by aslender statuette, standing above the commemorative inscription, againstthe naked wall whose only decorations were a few bead wreaths hangingfrom nails. And before the tomb, as before the Grotto, were five or sixbenches in rows, for the faithful who desired to sit down. 

But with another gesture of sorrowful compassion, Doctor Chassaigne hadsilently pointed out to Pierre a huge damp spot which was turning thewall at the far end quite green. Pierre remembered the little lake whichhe had noticed up above on the cracked cement flooring of thechoir--quite a quantity of water left by the storm of the previous night. Infiltration had evidently commenced, a perfect stream ran down, invadingthe crypt, whenever there was heavy rain. And they both felt a pang attheir hearts when they perceived that the water was trickling along thevaulted roof in narrow threads, and thence falling in large, regularrhythmical drops upon the tomb. The doctor could not restrain a groan. "Now it rains, " he said; "it rains on him!"

Pierre remained motionless, in a kind of awe. In the presence of thatfalling water, at the thought of the blasts which must rush at wintertime through the glassless windows, that corpse appeared to him bothwoeful and tragic. It acquired a fierce grandeur, lying there alone inits splendid marble tomb, amidst all the rubbish, at the bottom of thecrumbling ruins of its own church. It was the solitary guardian, the deadsleeper and dreamer watching over the empty spaces, open to all the birdsof night. It was the mute, obstinate, eternal protest, and it wasexpectation also. Cure Peyramale, stretched in his coffin, having alleternity before him to acquire patience, there, without weariness, awaited the workmen who would perhaps return thither some fine Aprilmorning. If they should take ten years to do so, he would be there, andif it should take them a century, he would be there still. He was waitingfor the rotten scaffoldings up above, among the grass of the nave, to beresuscitated like the dead, and by the force of some miracle to standupright once more, along the walls. He was waiting, too, for themoss-covered engine to become all at once burning hot, recover itsbreath, and raise the timbers for the roof. His beloved enterprise, hisgigantic building, was crumbling about his head, and yet with joinedhands and closed eyes he was watching over its ruins, watching andwaiting too. 

In a low voice, the doctor finished the cruel story, telling how, afterpersecuting Cure Peyramale and his work, they persecuted his tomb. Therehad formerly been a bust of the Cure there, and pious hands had kept alittle lamp burning before it. But a woman had one day fallen with herface to the earth, saying that she had perceived the soul of thedeceased, and thereupon the Fathers of the Grotto were in a flutter. Weremiracles about to take place there? The sick already passed entire daysthere, seated on the benches before the tomb. Others knelt down, kissedthe marble, and prayed to be cured. And at this a feeling of terrorarose: supposing they should be cured, supposing the Grotto should find acompetitor in this martyr, lying all alone, amidst the old tools leftthere by the masons! The Bishop of Tarbes, informed and influenced, thereupon published the mandamus which placed the church under interdict, forbidding all worship there and all pilgrimages and processions to thetomb of the former priest of Lourdes. As in the case of Bernadette, hismemory was proscribed, his portrait could be found, officially, nowhere. In the same manner as they had shown themselves merciless against theliving man, so did the Fathers prove merciless to his memory. Theypursued him even in his tomb. They alone, again nowadays, prevented theworks of the church from being proceeded with, by raising continualobstacles, and absolutely refusing to share their rich harvest of alms. And they seemed to be waiting for the winter rains to fall and completethe work of destruction, for the vaulted roof of the crypt, the walls, the whole gigantic pile to crumble down upon the tomb of the martyr, uponthe body of the defeated man, so that he might be buried beneath them andat last pounded to dust!

"Ah!" murmured the doctor, "I, who knew him so valiant, so enthusiasticin all noble labour! Now, you see it, it rains, it rains on him!"

Painfully, he set himself on his knees and found relief in a long prayer. 

Pierre, who could not pray, remained standing. Compassionate sorrow wasoverflowing from his heart. He listened to the heavy drops from the roofas one by one they broke on the tomb with a slow rhythmical pit-a-pat, which seemed to be numbering the seconds of eternity, amidst the profoundsilence. And he reflected on the eternal misery of this world, on thechoice which suffering makes in always falling on the best. The two greatmakers of Our Lady of Lourdes, Bernadette and Cure Peyramale, rose up inthe flesh again before him, like woeful victims, tortured during theirlives and exiled after their deaths. That alone, indeed, would havecompleted within him the destruction of his faith; for the Bernadette, whom he had just found at the end of his researches, was but a humansister, loaded with every dolour. But none the less he preserved a tenderbrotherly veneration for her, and two tears slowly trickled down hischeeks. 

THE FIFTH DAY

I. EGOTISM AND LOVE

AGAIN that night Pierre, at the Hotel of the Apparitions, was unable toobtain a wink of sleep. After calling at the hospital to inquire afterMarie, who, since her return from the procession, had been soundlyenjoying the delicious, restoring sleep of a child, he had gone to bedhimself feeling anxious at the prolonged absence of M. De Guersaint. Hehad expected him at latest at dinner-time, but probably some mischancehad detained him at Gavarnie; and he thought how disappointed Marie wouldbe if her father were not there to embrace her the first thing in themorning. With a man like M. De Guersaint, so pleasantly heedless and sohare-brained, everything was possible, every fear might be realised. 

Perhaps this anxiety had at first sufficed to keep Pierre awake in spiteof his great fatigue; but afterwards the nocturnal noises of the hotelhad really assumed unbearable proportions. The morrow, Tuesday, was theday of departure, the last day which the national pilgrimage would spendat Lourdes, and the pilgrims no doubt were making the most of their time, coming from the Grotto and returning thither in the middle of the night, endeavouring as it were to force the grace of Heaven by their commotion, and apparently never feeling the slightest need of repose. The doorsslammed, the floors shook, the entire building vibrated beneath thedisorderly gallop of a crowd. Never before had the walls reverberatedwith such obstinate coughs, such thick, husky voices. Thus Pierre, a preyto insomnia, tossed about on his bed and continually rose up, beset withthe idea that the noise he heard must have been made by M. De Guersaintwho had returned. For some minutes he would listen feverishly; but hecould only hear the extraordinary sounds of the passage, amid which hecould distinguish nothing precisely. Was it the priest, the mother andher three daughters, or the old married couple on his left, who werefighting with the furniture? or was it rather the larger family, or thesingle gentleman, or the young single woman on his right, whom someincomprehensible occurrences were leading into adventures? At one momenthe jumped from his bed, wishing to explore his absent friend's emptyroom, as he felt certain that some deeds of violence were taking place init. But although he listened very attentively when he got there, the onlysound he could distinguish was the tender caressing murmur of two voices. Then a sudden recollection of Madame Volmar came to him, and he returnedshuddering to bed. 

At length, when it was broad daylight and Pierre had just fallen asleep, a loud knocking at his door awoke him with a start. This time there couldbe no mistake, a loud voice broken by sobs was calling "Monsieur l'Abbe!Monsieur l'Abbe! for Heaven's sake wake up!"

Surely it must be M. De Guersaint who had been brought back dead, atleast. Quite scared, Pierre ran and opened the door, in his night-shirt, and found himself in the presence of his neighbour, M. Vigneron. 

"Oh! for Heaven's sake, Monsieur l'Abbe, dress yourself at once!"exclaimed the assistant head-clerk. "Your holy ministry is required. "And he began to relate that he had just got up to see the time by hiswatch on the mantelpiece, when he had heard some most frightful sighsissuing from the adjoining room, where Madame Chaise slept. She had leftthe communicating door open in order to be more with them, as shepleasantly expressed it. Accordingly he had hastened in, and flung theshutters open so as to admit both light and air. "And what a sight, Monsieur l'Abbe!" he continued. "Our poor aunt lying on her bed, nearlypurple in the face already, her mouth wide open in a vain effort tobreathe, and her hands fumbling with the sheet. It's her heart complaint, you know. Come, come at once, Monsieur l'Abbe, and help her, I imploreyou!"

Pierre, utterly bewildered, could find neither his breeches nor hiscassock. "Of course, of course I'll come with you, " said he. "But I havenot what is necessary for administering the last sacraments. "

M. Vigneron had assisted him to dress, and was now stooping down lookingfor his slippers. "Never mind, " he said, "the mere sight of you willassist her in her last moments, if Heaven has this affliction in storefor us. Here! put these on your feet, and follow me at once--oh! atonce!"

He went off like a gust of wind and plunged into the adjoining room. Allthe doors remained wide open. The young priest, who followed him, noticednothing in the first room, which was in an incredible state of disorder, beyond the half-naked figure of little Gustave, who sat on the sofaserving him as a bed, motionless, very pale, forgotten, and shiveringamid this drama of inexorable death. Open bags littered the floor, thegreasy remains of supper soiled the table, the parents' bed seemeddevastated by the catastrophe, its coverlets torn off and lying on thefloor. And almost immediately afterwards he caught sight of the mother, who had hastily enveloped herself in an old yellow dressing-gown, standing with a terrified look in the inner room. 

"Well, my love, well, my love?" repeated M. Vigneron, in stammeringaccents. 

With a wave of her hand and without uttering a word Madame Vigneron drewtheir attention to Madame Chaise, who lay motionless, with her head sunkin the pillow and her hands stiffened and twisted. She was blue in theface, and her mouth gaped, as though with the last great gasp that hadcome from her. 

Pierre bent over her. Then in a low voice he said: "She is dead!"

Dead! The word rang through the room where a heavy silence reigned, andthe husband and wife looked at each other in amazement, bewilderment. Soit was over? The aunt had died before Gustave, and the youngsterinherited her five hundred thousand francs. How many times had they dwelton that dream; whose sudden realisation dumfounded them? How many timeshad despair overcome them when they feared that the poor child mightdepart before her? Dead! Good heavens! was it their fault? Had theyreally prayed to the Blessed Virgin for this? She had shown herself sogood to them that they trembled at the thought that they had not beenable to express a wish without its being granted. In the death of thechief clerk, so suddenly carried off so that they might have his place, they had already recognised the powerful hand of Our Lady of Lourdes. Hadshe again loaded them with favours, listening even to the unconsciousdreams of their desire? Yet they had never desired anyone's death; theywere worthy people incapable of any bad action, loving their relations, fulfilling their religious duties, going to confession, partaking of thecommunion like other people without any ostentation. Whenever theythought of those five hundred thousand francs, of their son who might bethe first to go, and of the annoyance it would be to them to see anotherand far less worthy nephew inherit that fortune, it was merely in theinnermost recesses of their hearts, in short, quite innocently andnaturally. Certainly they _had_ thought of it when they were at theGrotto, but was not the Blessed Virgin wisdom itself? Did she not knowfar better than ourselves what she ought to do for the happiness of boththe living and the dead?

Then Madame Vigneron in all sincerity burst into tears and wept for thesister whom she loved so much. "Ah! Monsieur l'Abbe, " she said, "I sawher expire; she passed away before my eyes. What a misfortune that youwere not here sooner to receive her soul! She died without a priest; yourpresence would have consoled her so much. "

A prey also to emotion, his eyes full of tears, Vigneron sought toconsole his wife. "Your sister was a saint, " said he; "she communicatedagain yesterday morning, and you need have no anxiety concerning her; hersoul has gone straight to heaven. No doubt, if Monsieur l'Abbe had beenhere in time she would have been glad to see him. But what would you?Death was quicker. I went at once, and really there is nothing for us toreproach ourselves with. "

Then, turning towards the priest, he added "Monsieur l'Abbe, it was herexcessive piety which certainly hastened her end. Yesterday, at theGrotto, she had a bad attack, which was a warning. And in spite of herfatigue she obstinately followed the procession afterwards. I thoughtthen that she could not last long. Yet, out of delicacy, one did not liketo say anything to her, for fear of frightening her. "

Pierre gently knelt down and said the customary prayers, with that humanemotion which was his nearest approach to faith in the presence ofeternal life and eternal death, both so pitiful. Then, as he remainedkneeling a little longer, he overheard snatches of the conversationaround him. 

Little Gustave, forgotten on his couch amid the disorder of the otherroom, must have lost patience, for he had begun to cry and call out, "Mamma! mamma! mamma!"

At length Madame Vigneron went to quiet him, and it occurred to her tocarry him in her arms to kiss his poor aunt for the last time. But atfirst he struggled and refused, crying so much that M. Vigneron wasobliged to interfere and try to make him ashamed of himself. What! he whowas never frightened of anything! who bore suffering with the courage ofa grown-up man! And to think it was a question of kissing his poor aunt, who had always been so kind, whose last thought must most certainly havebeen for him!

"Give him to me, " said he to his wife; "he's going to be good. "

Gustave ended by clinging to his father's neck. He came shivering in hisnight-shirt, displaying his wretched little body devoured by scrofula. Itseemed indeed as though the miraculous water of the piscinas, far fromcuring him, had freshened the sore on his back; whilst his scraggy leghung down inertly like a dry stick. 

"Kiss her, " resumed M. Vigneron. 

The child leant forward and kissed his aunt on the forehead. It was notdeath which upset him and caused him to struggle. Since he had been inthe room he had been looking at the dead woman with an air of quietcuriosity. He did not love her, he had suffered on her account so long. He had the ideas and feelings of a man, and the weight of them wasstifling him as, like his complaint, they developed and became moreacute. He felt full well that he was too little, that children ought notto understand what only concerns their elders. 

However, his father, seating himself out of the way, kept him on hisknee, whilst his mother closed the window and lit the two candles on themantelpiece. "Ah! my poor dear, " murmured M. Vigneron, feeling that hemust say something, "it's a cruel loss for all of us. Our trip is nowcompletely spoilt; this is our last day, for we start this afternoon. Andthe Blessed Virgin, too, was showing herself so kind to us. "

However, seeing his son's surprised look, a look of infinite sadness andreproach, he hastened to add: "Yes, of course, I know that she hasn't yetquite cured you. But we must not despair of her kindness. She loves us sowell, she shows us so many favours that she will certainly end by curingyou, since that is now the only favour that remains for her to grant us. "

Madame Vigneron, who was listening, drew near and said: "How happy weshould have been to have returned to Paris all three hale and hearty!Nothing is ever perfect!"

"I say!" suddenly observed Monsieur Vigneron, "I sha'n't be able to leavewith you this afternoon, on account of the formalities which have to begone through. I hope that my return ticket will still be availableto-morrow!"

They were both getting over the frightful shock, feeling a sense ofrelief in spite of their affection for Madame Chaise; and, in fact, theywere already forgetting her, anxious above all things to leave Lourdes assoon as possible, as though the principal object of their journey hadbeen attained. A decorous, unavowed delight was slowly penetrating them. 

"When I get back to Paris there will be so much for me to do, " continuedM. Vigneron. "I, who now only long for repose! All the same I shallremain my three years at the Ministry, until I can retire, especially nowthat I am certain of the retiring pension of chief clerk. Butafterwards--oh! afterwards I certainly hope to enjoy life a bit. Sincethis money has come to us I shall purchase the estate of Les Billottes, that superb property down at my native place which I have always beendreaming of. And I promise you that I sha'n't find time hanging heavy onmy hands in the midst of my horses, my dogs, and my flowers!"

Little Gustave was still on his father's knee, his night-shirt tucked up, his whole wretched misshapen body shivering, and displaying thescragginess of a slowly dying child. When he perceived that his father, now full of his dream of an opulent life, no longer seemed to notice thathe was there, he gave one of his enigmatical smiles, in which melancholywas tinged with malice. "But what about me, father?" he asked. 

M. Vigneron started, like one aroused from sleep, and did not at firstseem to understand. "You, little one? You'll be with us, of course!"

But Gustave gave him a long, straight look, without ceasing to smile withhis artful, though woeful lips. "Oh! do you think so?" he asked. 

"Of course I think so! You'll be with us, and it will be very nice to bewith us. "

Uneasy, stammering, unable to find the proper words, M. Vigneron felt achill come over him when his son shrugged his skinny shoulders with anair of philosophical disdain and answered: "Oh, no! I shall be dead. "

And then the terrified father was suddenly able to detect in the child'sdeep glance the glance of a man who was very aged, very knowing in allthings, acquainted with all the abominations of life through having gonethrough them. What especially alarmed him was the abrupt conviction thatthis child had always seen into the innermost recesses of his heart, evenfarther than the things he dared to acknowledge to himself. He couldrecall that when the little sufferer had been but a baby in his cradlehis eyes would frequently be fixed upon his own--and even then those eyeshad been rendered so sharp by suffering, endowed, too, with such anextraordinary power of divination, that they had seemed able to dive intothe unconscious thoughts buried in the depths of his brain. And by asingular counter-effect all the things that he had never owned to himselfhe now found in his child's eyes--he beheld them, read them there, against his will. The story of his cupidity lay unfolded before him, hisanger at having such a sorry son, his anguish at the idea that MadameChaise's fortune depended upon such a fragile existence, his eager desirethat she might make haste and die whilst the youngster was still there, in order that he might finger the legacy. It was simply a question ofdays, this duel as to which should go off first. And then, at the end, itstill meant death--the youngster must in his turn disappear, whilst he, the father, alone pocketed the cash, and lived joyfully to a good oldage. And these frightful things shone forth so clearly from the keen, melancholy, smiling eyes of the poor condemned child, passed from son tofather with such evident distinctness, that for a moment it seemed tothem that they were shouting them aloud. 

However, M. Vigneron struggled against it all, and, averting his head, began energetically protesting: "How! You'll be dead? What an idea! It'sabsurd to have such ideas as that!"

Meantime, Madame Vigneron was sobbing. "You wicked child, " she gasped;"how can you make us so unhappy, when we already have such a cruel lossto deplore?"

Gustave had to kiss them, and to promise them that he would live fortheir sakes. Yet he did not cease smiling, conscious as he was that a lieis necessary when one does not wish to be too miserable, and quiteprepared, moreover, to leave his parents happy behind him, since even theBlessed Virgin herself was powerless to grant him in this world thelittle happy lot to which each creature should be born. 

His mother took him back to bed, and Pierre at length rose up, just as M. Vigneron had finished arranging the chamber of death in a suitablemanner. "You'll excuse me, won't you, Monsieur l'Abbe?" said he, accompanying the young priest to the door. "I'm not quite myself. Well, it's an unpleasant time to go through. I must get over it somehow, however. "

When Pierre got into the passage he stopped for a moment, listening to asound of voices which was ascending the stairs. He had just been thinkingof M. De Guersaint again, and imagined that he could recognise his voice. However, whilst he stood there waiting, an incident occurred which causedhim intense discomfort. The door of the room next to M. De Guersaint'ssoftly opened and a woman, clad in black, slipped into the passage. Asshe turned, she found herself face to face with Pierre, in such a fashionthat it was impossible for them to pretend not to recognise each other. 

The woman was Madame Volmar. Six o'clock had not yet struck, and she wasgoing off, hoping that nobody would notice her, with the intention ofshowing herself at the hospital, and there spending this last morning, inorder, in some measure, to justify her journey to Lourdes. When sheperceived Pierre, she began to tremble, and, at first, could onlystammer: "Oh, Monsieur l'Abbe, Monsieur l'Abbe!"

Then, noticing that the priest had left his door wide open, she seemed togive way to the fever consuming her, to a need of speaking out, explaining things and justifying herself. With her face suffused by arush of blood she entered the young man's room, whither he had to followher, greatly disturbed by this strange adventure. And, as he still leftthe door open, it was she who, in her desire to confide her sorrow andher sin to him, begged that he would close it. 

"Oh! I pray you, Monsieur l'Abbe, " said she, "do not judge me tooharshly. "

He made a gesture as though to reply that he did not allow himself theright to pass judgment upon her. 

"But yes, but yes, " she responded; "I know very well that you areacquainted with my misfortune. You saw me once in Paris behind the churchof La Trinite, and the other day you recognised me on the balcony here!You were aware that I was there--in that room. But if you only knew--ah, if you only knew!"

Her lips were quivering, and tears were welling into her eyes. As helooked at her he was surprised by the extraordinary beauty transfiguringher face. This woman, invariably clad in black, extremely simple, withnever a jewel, now appeared to him in all the brilliancy of her passion;no longer drawing back into the gloom, no longer seeking to bedim thelustre of her eyes, as was her wont. She, who at first sight did not seempretty, but too dark and slender, with drawn features, a large mouth andlong nose, assumed, as he now examined her, a troubling charm, apowerful, irresistible beauty. Her eyes especially--her large, magnificent eyes, whose brasiers she usually sought to cover with a veilof indifference--were flaring like torches; and he understood that sheshould be loved, adored, to madness. 

"If you only knew, Monsieur l'Abbe, " she continued. "If I were only totell you all that I have suffered. Doubtless you have suspected somethingof it, since you are acquainted with my mother-in-law and my husband. Onthe few occasions when you have called on us you cannot but haveunderstood some of the abominable things which go on in my home, though Ihave always striven to appear happy in my silent little corner. But tolive like that for ten years, to have no existence--never to love, neverto be loved--no, no, it was beyond my power!"

And then she related the whole painful story: her marriage with thediamond merchant, a disastrous, though it seemed an advantageous one; hermother-in-law, with the stern soul of a jailer or an executioner, and herhusband, a monster of physical ugliness and mental villainy. Theyimprisoned her, they did not even allow her to look out of a window. Theyhad beaten her, they had pitilessly assailed her in her tastes, herinclinations, in all her feminine weaknesses. She knew that her husbandwandered in his affections, and yet if she smiled to a relative, if shehad a flower in her corsage on some rare day of gaiety, he would tear itfrom her, enter into the most jealous rage, and seize and bruise herwrists whilst shouting the most fearful threats. For years and years shehad lived in that hell, hoping, hoping still, having within her such apower of life, such an ardent need of affection, that she continuedwaiting for happiness, ever thinking, at the faintest breath, that it wasabout to enter. 

"I swear to you, Monsieur l'Abbe, " said she, "that I could not dootherwise than I have done. I was too unhappy: my whole being longed forsomeone who would care for me. And when my friend the first time told methat he loved me it was all over--I was his forever. Ah! to be loved, tobe spoken to gently, to have someone near you who is always solicitousand amiable; to know that in absence he thinks of you, that there is aheart somewhere in which you live... Ah! if it be a crime, Monsieurl'Abbe, I cannot, cannot feel remorse for it. I will not even say that Iwas urged to it; I simply say that it came to me as naturally as mybreath, because it was as necessary to my life!"

She had carried her hand to her lips as though to throw a kiss to theworld, and Pierre felt deeply disturbed in presence of this lovely woman, who personified all the ardour of human passion, and at the same time afeeling of deep pity began to arise within him. 

"Poor woman!" he murmured. 

"It is not to the priest that I am confessing, " she resumed; "it is tothe man that I am speaking, to a man by whom I should greatly like to beunderstood. No, I am not a believer: religion has not sufficed me. It issaid that some women find contentment in it, a firm protection evenagainst all transgressions. But I have ever felt cold in church, wearyunto death. Oh! I know very well that it is wrong to feign piety, tomingle religion with my heart affairs. But what would you? I am forced toit. If you saw me in Paris behind La Trinite it was because that churchis the only place to which I am allowed to go alone; and if you find mehere at Lourdes it is because, in the whole long year, I have but thesethree days of happiness and freedom. "

Again she began to tremble. Hot tears were coursing down her cheeks. Avision of it all arose in Pierre's mind, and, distracted by the thoughtof the ardent earthly love which possessed this unhappy creature, heagain murmured: "Poor woman!"

"And, Monsieur l'Abbe, " she continued, "think of the hell to which I amabout to return! For weeks and months I live my life of martyrdom withoutcomplaint. Another year, another year must go by without a day, an hourof happiness! Ah! I am indeed very unhappy, Monsieur l'Abbe, yet do younot think all the same that I am a good woman?"

He had been deeply moved by her sincere display of mingled grief andpassion. He felt in her the breath of universal desire--a sovereignflame. And his compassion overflowed from his heart, and his words werewords of pardon. "Madame, " he said, "I pity you and respect youinfinitely. "

Then she spoke no further, but looked at him with her large tear-blurredeyes. And suddenly catching hold of both his hands, she grasped themtightly with her burning fingers. And then she went off, vanishing downthe passage as light, as ethereal, as a shadow. 

However, Pierre suffered from her presence in that room even more acutelyafter she had departed. He opened the window wide that the fresh airmight carry off the breath of passion which she had left there. Alreadyon the Sunday when he had seen her on the balcony he had been seized withterror at the thought that she personified the revenge of the world andthe flesh amidst all the mystical exaltation of immaculate Lourdes. Andnow his terror was returning to him. Love seemed stronger than faith, andperhaps it was only love that was divine. To love, to belong to oneanother, to create and continue life--was not that the one sole object ofnature outside of all social and religious policies? For a moment he wasconscious of the abyss before him: his chastity was his last prop, thevery dignity of his spoilt life; and he realised that, if after yieldingto his reason he also yielded to his flesh, he would be utterly lost. Allhis pride of purity, all his strength which he had placed in professionalrectitude, thereupon returned to him, and he again vowed that he wouldnever be a man, since he had voluntarily cut himself off from among men. 

Seven o'clock was striking, and Pierre did not go back to bed, but beganto wash himself, thoroughly enjoying the cool water, which ended bycalming his fever. As he finished dressing, the anxious thought of M. DeGuersaint recurred to him on hearing a sound of footsteps in the passage. These steps stopped outside his room and someone knocked. With a feelingof relief he went to open the door, but on doing so exclaimed in greatsurprise "What, it's you! How is it that you're already up, running aboutto see people?"

Marie stood on the threshold smiling, whilst behind her was SisterHyacinthe, who had come with her, and who also was smiling, with herlovely, candid eyes. 

"Ah! my friend, " said the girl, "I could not remain in bed. I sprang outdirectly I saw the sunshine. I had such a longing to walk, to run andjump about like a child, and I begged and implored so much that Sisterwas good enough to come with me. I think I should have got out throughthe window if the door had been closed against me. "

Pierre ushered them in, and an indescribable emotion oppressed him as heheard her jest so gaily and saw her move about so freely with such graceand liveliness. She, good heavens! she whom he had seen for years withlifeless legs and colourless face! Since he had left her the day beforeat the Basilica she had blossomed into full youth and beauty. One nighthad sufficed for him to find again, developed it is true, the sweetcreature whom he had loved so tenderly, the superb, radiant child whom hehad embraced so wildly in the by-gone days behind the flowering hedge, beneath the sun-flecked trees. 

"How tall and lovely you are, Marie!" said he, in spite of himself. 

Then Sister Hyacinthe interposed: "Hasn't the Blessed Virgin done thingswell, Monsieur l'Abbe? When she takes us in hand, you see, she turns usout as fresh as roses and smelling quite as sweet. "

"Ah!" resumed Marie, "I'm so happy; I feel quite strong and well andspotless, as though I had just been born!"

All this was very delicious to Pierre. It seemed to him that theatmosphere was now truly purified of Madame Volmar's presence. Mariefilled the room with her candour, with the perfume and brightness of herinnocent youth. And yet the joy he felt at the sight of pure beauty andlife reflowering was not exempt from sadness. For, after all, the revoltwhich he had felt in the crypt, the wound of his wrecked life, mustforever leave him a bleeding heart. As he gazed upon all thatresuscitated grace, as the woman he loved thus reappeared before him inthe flower of her youth, he could not but remember that she would neverbe his, that he belonged no longer to the world, but to the grave. However, he no longer lamented; he experienced a boundless melancholy--asensation of utter nothingness as he told himself that he was dead, thatthis dawn of beauty was rising on the tomb in which his manhood slept. Itwas renunciation, accepted, resolved upon amidst all the desolategrandeur attaching to those lives which are led contrary to nature's law. Then, like the other woman, the impassioned one, Marie took hold ofPierre's hands. But hers were so soft, so fresh, so soothing! She lookedat him with so little confusion and a great longing which she dared notexpress. After a while, however, she summoned up her courage and said:"Will you kiss me, Pierre? It would please me so much. "

He shuddered, his heart crushed by this last torture. Ah! the kisses ofother days--those kisses which had ever lingered on his lips! Never sincehad he kissed her, and to-day she was like a sister flinging her armsaround his neck. She kissed him with a loud smack on both his cheeks, andoffering her own, insisted on his doing likewise to her. So twice, in histurn, he embraced her. 

"I, too, Marie, " said he, "am pleased, very pleased, I assure you. " Andthen, overcome by emotion, his courage exhausted, whilst at the same timefilled with delight and bitterness, he burst into sobs, weeping with hisface buried in his hands, like a child seeking to hide its tears. 

"Come, come, we must not give way, " said Sister Hyacinthe, gaily. "Monsieur l'Abbe would feel too proud if he fancied that we had merelycome on his account. M. De Guersaint is about, isn't he?"

Marie raised a cry of deep affection. "Ah! my dear father! After all, it's he who'll be most pleased!"

Thereupon Pierre had to relate that M. De Guersaint had not returned fromhis excursion to Gavarnie. His increasing anxiety showed itself while hespoke, although he sought to explain his friend's absence, surmising allsorts of obstacles and unforeseen complications. Marie, however, did notseem afraid, but again laughed, saying that her father never could bepunctual. Still she was extremely eager for him to see her walking, tofind her on her legs again, resuscitated, in the fresh blossoming of heryouth. 

All at once Sister Hyacinthe, who had gone to lean over the balcony, returned to the room, saying "Here he comes! He's down below, justalighting from his carriage. "

"Ah!" cried Marie, with the eager playfulness of a school-girl, "let'sgive him a surprise. Yes, we must hide, and when he's here we'll showourselves all of a sudden. "

With these words, she hastily dragged Sister Hyacinthe into the adjoiningroom. 

Almost immediately afterwards, M. De Guersaint entered like a whirlwindfrom the passage, the door communicating with which had been quicklyopened by Pierre, and, shaking the young priest's hand, the belatedexcursionist exclaimed: "Here I am at last! Ah! my friend, you can't haveknown what to think since four o'clock yesterday, when you expected meback, eh? But you have no idea of the adventures we have had. To beginwith, one of the wheels of our landau came off just as we reachedGavarnie; then, yesterday evening--though we managed to start offagain--a frightful storm detained us all night long at Saint-Sauveur. Iwasn't able to sleep a wink. " Then, breaking off, he inquired, "And you, are you all right?"

"I wasn't able to sleep either, " said the priest; "they made such a noisein the hotel. "

But M. De Guersaint had already started off again: "All the same, it wasdelightful. I must tell you; you can't imagine it. I was with threedelightful churchmen. Abbe des Hermoises is certainly the most charmingman I know. Oh! we did laugh--we did laugh!"

Then he again stopped, to inquire, "And how's my daughter?"

Thereupon a clear laugh behind him caused him to turn round, and heremained with his mouth wide open. Marie was there, and was walking, witha look of rapturous delight upon her face, which was beaming with health. He had never for a moment doubted the miracle, and was not in the leastsurprised that it had taken place, for he had returned with theconviction that everything would end well, and that he would surely findher cured. But what so utterly astounded him was the prodigious spectaclewhich he had not foreseen: his daughter, looking so beautiful, so divine, in her little black gown!--his daughter, who had not even brought a hatwith her, and merely had a piece of lace tied over her lovely fairhair!--his daughter, full of life, blooming, triumphant, similar to allthe daughters of all the fathers whom he had envied for so many years!

"O my child! O my child!" he exclaimed. 

And, as she had flown into his arms, he pressed her to his heart, andthen they fell upon their knees together. Everything disappeared frombefore them in a radiant effusion of faith and love. This heedless, hare-brained man, who fell asleep instead of accompanying his daughter tothe Grotto, who went off to Gavarnie on the day the Blessed Virgin was tocure her, overflowed with such paternal affection, with such Christianfaith so exalted by thankfulness, that for a moment he appeared sublime. 

"O Jesus! O Mary! let me thank you for having restored my child to me! Omy child, we shall never have breath enough, soul enough, to renderthanks to Mary and Jesus for the great happiness they have vouchsafed us!O my child, whom they have resuscitated, O my child, whom they have madeso beautiful again, take my heart to offer it to them with your own! I amyours, I am theirs eternally, O my beloved child, my adored child!"

Kneeling before the open window they both, with uplifted eyes, gazedardently on heaven. The daughter had rested her head on her father'sshoulder; whilst he had passed an arm round her waist. They had becomeone. Tears slowly trickled down their enraptured faces, which weresmiling with superhuman felicity, whilst they stammered togetherdisconnected expressions of gratitude. 

"O Jesus, we give Thee thanks! O Holy Mother of Jesus, we give theethanks! We love you, we adore you both. You have rejuvenated the bestblood in our veins; it is yours, it circulates only for you. OAll-powerful Mother, O Divine and Well-beloved Son, behold a daughter anda father who bless you, who prostrate themselves with joy at your feet. "

So affecting was this mingling of two beings, happy at last after so manydark days, this happiness, which could but stammer as though still tingedwith suffering, that Pierre was again moved to tears. But this time theywere soothing tears which relieved his heart. Ah! poor pitiable humanity!how pleasant it was to see it somewhat consoled and enraptured! and whatdid it matter, after all, if its great joys of a few seconds' durationsprang from the eternal illusion! Was not the whole of humanity, pitiablehumanity, saved by love, personified by that poor childish man whosuddenly became sublime because he found his daughter resuscitated?

Standing a little aside, Sister Hyacinthe was also weeping, her heartvery full, full of human emotion which she had never before experienced, she who had known no other parents than the Almighty and the BlessedVirgin. Silence had now fallen in this room full of so much tearfulfraternity. And it was she who spoke the first, when the father and thedaughter, overcome with emotion, at length rose up. 

"Now, mademoiselle, " she said, "we must be quick and get back to thehospital. "

But they all protested. M. De Guersaint wished to keep his daughter withhim, and Marie's eyes expressed an eager desire, a longing to enjoy life, to walk and ramble through the whole vast world. 

"Oh! no, no!" said the father, "I won't give her back to you. We'll eachhave a cup of milk, for I'm dying of thirst; then we'll go out and walkabout. Yes, yes, both of us! She shall take my arm, like a little woman!"

Sister Hyacinthe laughed again. "Very well!" said she, "I'll leave herwith you, and tell the ladies that you've stolen her from me. But for myown part I must be off. You've no idea what an amount of work we have toget through at the hospital if we are to be ready in time to leave: thereare all the patients and things to be seen to; and all is in the greatestconfusion!"

"So to-day's really Tuesday, and we leave this afternoon?" asked Monsieurde Guersaint, already absent-minded again. 

"Of course we do, and don't forget! The white train starts at 3. 40. Andif you're sensible you'll bring your daughter back early so that she mayhave a little rest. "

Marie walked with the Sister to the door, saying "Be easy, I will be verygood. Besides, I want to go back to the Grotto, to thank the BlessedVirgin once more. "

When they found themselves all three alone in the little room full ofsunshine, it was delicious. Pierre called the servant and told her tobring them some milk, some chocolate, and cakes, in fact the nicestthings he could think of. And although Marie had already broken her fast, she ate again, so great an appetite had come upon her since the nightbefore. They drew the table to the window and made quite a feast amidstthe keen air from the mountains, whilst the hundred bells of Lourdes, proclaimed with flying peals the glory of that radiant day. Theychattered and laughed, and the young woman told her father the story ofthe miracle, with all the oft-repeated details. She related, too, how shehad left her box at the Basilica, and how she had slept twelve hourswithout stirring. Then M. De Guersaint on his side wished to relate hisexcursion, but got mixed and kept coming back to the miracle. Finally, itappeared that the Cirque de Gavarnie was something colossal. Only, whenyou looked at it from a distance it seemed small, for you lost all senseof proportion. The gigantic snow-covered tiers of cliffs, the topmostridge standing out against the sky with the outlines of some cyclopeanfortress with razed keep and jagged ramparts, the great cascade, whoseceaseless jet seemed so slow when in reality it must have rushed downwith a noise like thunder, the whole immensity, the forests on right andleft, the torrents and the landslips, looked as though they might havebeen held in the palm of one's hand, when one gazed upon them from thevillage market-place. And what had impressed him most, what he repeatedlyalluded to, were the strange figures described by the snow, which hadremained up there amongst the rocks. Amongst others was a huge crucifix, a white cross, several thousand yards in length, which you might havethought had been thrown across the amphitheatre from one end to theother. 

However, all at once M. De Guersaint broke off to inquire: "By the way, what's happening at our neighbour's? As I came up-stairs a little whileago I met Monsieur Vigneron running about like a madman; and, through theopen doorway of their room, I fancied I saw Madame Vigneron looking veryred. Has their son Gustave had another attack?"

Pierre had quite forgotten Madame Chaise lying dead on the other side ofthe partition. He seemed to feel a cold breath pass over him. "No, no, "he answered, "the child is all right. " And he said no more, preferring toremain silent. Why spoil this happy hour of new life and reconqueredyouth by mingling with it the image of death? However, from that momenthe himself could not cease thinking of the proximity of nothingness. Andhe thought, too, of that other room where Madame Volmar's friend was nowalone, stifling his sobs with his lips pressed upon a pair of gloveswhich he had stolen from her. All the sounds of the hotel were nowbecoming audible again--the coughs, the sighs, the indistinct voices, thecontinual slamming of doors, the creaking of the floors beneath the greataccumulation of travellers, and all the stir in the passages, along whichflying skirts were sweeping, and families galloping distractedly amidstthe hurry-scurry of departure. 

"On my word! you'll do yourself an injury, " all at once cried Monsieur deGuersaint, on seeing his daughter take up another cake. 

Marie was quite merry too. But at a sudden thought tears came into hereyes, and she exclaimed: "Ah! how glad I am! but also how sorry when Ithink that everybody is not as pleased as myself. "

II. PLEASANT HOURS

IT was eight o'clock, and Marie was so impatient that she could not keepstill, but continued going to the window, as if she wished to inhale allthe air of the vast, expanse and the immense sky. Ah! what a pleasure tobe able to run about the streets, across the squares, to go everywhere asfar as she might wish. And to show how strong she was, to have the prideof walking leagues in the presence of everyone, now that the BlessedVirgin had cured her! It was an irresistible impulsion, a flight of herentire being, her blood, and her heart. 

However, just as she was setting out she made up her mind that her firstvisit with her father ought to be to the Grotto, where both of them hadto thank Our Lady of Lourdes. Then they would be free; they would havetwo long hours before them, and might walk wherever they chose, beforeshe returned to lunch and pack up her few things at the hospital. 

"Well, is everyone ready?" repeated M. De Guersaint. "Shall we make amove?"

Pierre took his hat, and all three went down-stairs, talking very loudand laughing on the staircase, like boisterous school-boys going fortheir holidays. They had almost reached the street, when at the doorwayMadame Majeste rushed forward. She had evidently been waiting for them togo out. 

"Ah! mademoiselle; ah! gentlemen, allow me to congratulate you, " shesaid. "We have heard of the extraordinary favour that has been grantedyou; we are so happy, so much flattered, when the Blessed Virgin ispleased to select one of our customers!"

Her dry, harsh face was melting with amiability, and she observed themiraculously healed girl with the fondest of eyes. Then she impulsivelycalled her husband, who was passing: "Look, my dear! It's mademoiselle;it's mademoiselle. "

Majeste's clean-shaven face, puffed out with yellow fat, assumed a happyand grateful expression. "Really, mademoiselle, I cannot tell you howhonoured we feel, " said he. "We shall never forget that your papa put upat our place. It has already excited the envy of many people. "

While he spoke Madame Majeste stopped the other travellers who were goingout, and with a sign summoned the families already seated in thedining-room; indeed, she would have called in the whole street if theyhad given her time, to show that she had in her house the miracle atwhich all Lourdes had been marvelling since the previous day. Peopleended by collecting there, a crowd gathered little by little, while shewhispered in the ear of each "Look! that's she; the young party, youknow, the young party who--"

But all at once she exclaimed: "I'll go and fetch Apolline from the shop;I must show mademoiselle to Apolline. "

Thereupon, however, Majeste, in a very dignified way, restrained her. "No, " he said, "leave Apolline; she has three ladies to serve already. Mademoiselle and these gentlemen will certainly not leave Lourdes withoutmaking a few purchases. The little souvenirs that one carries away withone are so pleasant to look at later on! And our customers make a pointof never buying elsewhere than here, in the shop which we have annexed tothe hotel. "

"I have already offered my services, " added Madame Majeste, "and I renewthem. Apolline will be so happy to show mademoiselle all our prettiestarticles, at prices, too, which are incredibly low! Oh! there are somedelightful things, delightful!"

Marie was becoming impatient at being detained in this manner, and Pierrewas suffering from the increasing curiosity which they were arousing. Asfor M. De Guersaint, he enjoyed this popularity and triumph of hisdaughter immensely, and promised to return. 

"Certainly, " said he, "we will purchase a few little knick-knacks. Somesouvenirs for ourselves, and some presents that we shall have to make, but later on, when we come back. "

At last they escaped and descended the Avenue de la Grotte. The weatherwas again superb after the storms of the two preceding nights. Cooled bythe rain, the morning air was delicious amidst the gaiety which thebright sun shed around. A busy crowd, well pleased with life, was alreadyhurrying along the pavements. And what pleasure it all was for Marie, towhom everything seemed new, charming, inappreciable! In the morning shehad had to allow Raymonde to lend her a pair of boots, for she had takengood care not to put any in her portmanteau, superstitiously fearing thatthey might bring her bad luck. However, Raymonde's boots fitted heradmirably, and she listened with childish delight to the little heelstapping merrily on the flagstones. And she did not remember having everseen houses so white, trees so green, and passers-by so happy. All hersenses seemed holiday-making, endowed with a marvellously delicatesensibility; she heard music, smelt distant perfumes, savoured the airgreedily, as though it were some delicious fruit. But what sheconsidered, above all, so nice, so charming, was to walk along in thiswise on her father's arm. She had never done so before, although she hadfelt the desire for years, as for one of those impossible pleasures withwhich people occupy their minds when invalided. And now her dream wasrealised and her heart beat with joy. She pressed against her father, andstrove to walk very upright and look very handsome, so as to do himhonour. And he was quite proud, as happy as she was, showing, exhibitingher, overcome with joy at the thought that she belonged to him, that shewas his blood, his flesh, his daughter, henceforth beaming with youth andhealth. 

As they were all three crossing the Plateau de la Merlasse, alreadyobstructed by a band of candle and bouquet sellers running after thepilgrims, M. De Guersaint exclaimed, "We are surely not going to theGrotto empty-handed!"

Pierre, who was walking on the other side of Marie, himself brightened byher merry humour, thereupon stopped, and they were at once surrounded bya crowd of female hawkers, who with eager fingers thrust their goods intotheir faces. "My beautiful young lady! My good gentleman! Buy of me, ofme, of me!" Such was the onslaught that it became necessary to strugglein order to extricate oneself. M. De Guersaint ended by purchasing thelargest nosegay he could see--a bouquet of white marguerites, as roundand hard as a cabbage--from a handsome, fair-haired, well developed girlof twenty, who was extremely bold both in look and manner. It only costtwenty sons, and he insisted on paying for it out of his own littlepurse, somewhat abashed meantime by the girl's unblushing effrontery. Then Pierre in his turn settled for the three candles which Marie hadtaken from an old woman, candles at two francs each, a very reasonableprice, as she repeatedly said. And on being paid, the old creature, whohad an angular face, covetous eyes, and a nose like the beak of a bird ofprey, returned profuse and mellifluous thanks: "May Our Lady of Lourdesbless you, my beautiful young lady! May she cure you of your complaints, you and yours!" This enlivened them again, and they set out once more, all three laughing, amused like children at the idea that the goodwoman's wish had already been accomplished. 

At the Grotto Marie wished to file off at once, in order to offer thebouquet and candles herself before even kneeling down. There were notmany people there as yet, and having gone to the end of the line theirturn came after waiting some three or four minutes. And with whatenraptured glances did she then examine everything--the altar of engravedsilver, the harmonium-organ, the votive offerings, the candle-holders, streaming with wax blazing in broad daylight. She was now inside thatGrotto which she had hitherto only seen from her box of misery; shebreathed there as in Paradise itself, steeped rapturously in a pleasantwarmth and odour, which slightly oppressed her. When she had placed thetapers at the bottom of the large basket, and had raised herself ontiptoe to fix the bouquet on one of the spears of the iron railing, sheimprinted a long kiss upon the rock, below the statue of the BlessedVirgin, at the very spot, indeed, which millions of lips had alreadypolished. And the stone received a kiss of love in which she put forthall the strength of her gratitude, a kiss with which her heart melted. 

When she was once more outside, Marie prostrated and humbled herself inan almost endless act of thanksgiving. Her father also had knelt downnear her, and mingled the fervour of his gratitude with hers. But hecould not remain doing the same thing for long. Little by little hebecame uneasy, and ended by bending down to his daughter's ear to tellher that he had a call to make which he had previously forgotten. Assuredly the best course would be for her to remain where she was, praying, and waiting for him. While she completed her devotions he wouldhurry along and get his troublesome errand over; and then they might walkabout at ease wheresoever they liked. She did not understand him, did noteven hear him, but simply nodded her head, promising that she would notmove, and then such tender faith again took possession of her that hereyes, fixed on the white statue of the Virgin, filled with tears. 

When M. De Guersaint had joined Pierre, who had remained a short distanceoff, he gave him the following explanation. "My dear fellow, " he said, "it's a matter of conscience; I formally promised the coachman who droveus to Gavarnie that I would see his master and tell him the real cause ofour delay. You know whom I mean--the hairdresser on the Place duMarcadal. And, besides, I want to get shaved. "

Pierre, who felt uneasy at this proposal, had to give way in face of thepromise that they would be back within a quarter of an hour. Only, as thedistance seemed long, he on his side insisted on taking a trap which wasstanding at the bottom of the Plateau de la Merlasse. It was a sort ofgreenish cabriolet, and its driver, a fat fellow of about thirty, withthe usual Basque cap on his head, was smoking a cigarette whilst waitingto be hired. Perched sideways on the seat with his knees wide apart, hedrove them on with the tranquil indifference of a well-fed man whoconsiders himself the master of the street. 

"We will keep you, " said Pierre as he alighted, when they had reached thePlace du Marcadal. 

"Very well, very well, Monsieur l'Abbe! I'll wait for you!" And then, leaving his lean horse in the hot sun, the driver went to chat and laughwith a strong, dishevelled servant-girl who was washing a dog in thebasin of the neighbouring fountain. 

Cazaban, as it happened, was just then on the threshold of his shop, thelofty windows and pale green painting of which enlivened the dull Place, which was so deserted on week-days. When he was not pressed with work hedelighted to parade in this manner, standing between his two windows, which pots of pomatum and bottles of perfumery decorated with brightshades of colour. 

He at once recognised the gentlemen. "Very flattered, very much honoured. Pray walk in, I beg of you, " he said. 

Then, at the first words which M. De Guersaint said to him to excuse theman who had driven him to Gavarnie, he showed himself well disposed. Ofcourse it was not the man's fault; he could not prevent wheels coming topieces, or storms falling. So long as the travellers did not complain allwas well. 

"Oh!" thereupon exclaimed M. De Guersaint, "it's a magnificent country, never to be forgotten. "

"Well, monsieur, as our neighbourhood pleases you, you must come and seeus again; we don't ask anything better, " said Cazaban; and, on thearchitect seating himself in one of the arm-chairs and asking to beshaved, he began to bustle about. 

His assistant was still absent, running errands for the pilgrims whom helodged, a whole family, who were taking a case of chaplets, plasterVirgins, and framed engravings away with them. You heard a confusedtramping of feet and violent bursts of conversation coming from the firstfloor, all the helter-skelter of people whom the approaching departureand the packing of purchases lying hither and thither drove almost crazy. In the adjoining dining-room, the door of which had remained open, twochildren were draining the dregs of some cups of chocolate which stoodabout amidst the disorder of the breakfast service. The whole of thehouse had been let, entirely given over, and now had come the last hoursof this invasion which compelled the hairdresser and his wife to seekrefuge in the narrow cellar, where they slept on a small camp-bed. 

While Cazaban was rubbing M. De Guersaint's cheeks with soap-suds, thearchitect questioned him. "Well, are you satisfied with the season?"

"Certainly, monsieur, I can't complain. As you hear, my travellers areleaving to-day, but I am expecting others to-morrow morning; barelysufficient time for a sweep out. It will be the same up to October. "

Then, as Pierre remained standing, walking about the shop and looking atthe walls with an air of impatience, he turned round politely and said:"Pray be seated, Monsieur l'Abbe; take a newspaper. It will not be long. "

The priest having thanked him with a nod, and refusing to sit down, thehairdresser, whose tongue was ever itching to talk, continued: "Oh! asfor myself, I am always busy, my house is renowned for the cleanliness ofthe beds and the excellence of the fare. Only the town is not satisfied. Ah, no! I may even say that I have never known so much discontent here. "

He became silent for a moment, and shaved his customer's left cheek; thenagain pausing in his work he suddenly declared with a cry, wrung from himby conviction, "The Fathers of the Grotto are playing with fire, monsieur, that is all I have to say. "

From that moment, however, the vent-plug was withdrawn, and he talked andtalked and talked again. His big eyes rolled in his long face withprominent cheek-bones and sunburnt complexion sprinkled with red, whilethe whole of his nervous little body continued on the jump, agitated byhis growing exuberance of speech and gesture. He returned to his formerindictment, and enumerated all the many grievances that the old town hadagainst the Fathers. The hotel-keepers complained; the dealers inreligious fancy articles did not take half the amount they ought to haverealised; and, finally, the new town monopolised both the pilgrims andthe cash; there was now no possibility for anyone but the keepers of thelodging-houses, hotels, and shops open in the neighbourhood of the Grottoto make any money whatever. It was a merciless struggle, a deadlyhostility increasing from day to day, the old city losing a little of itslife each season, and assuredly destined to disappear, --to be choked, assassinated, by the young town. Ah! their dirty Grotto! He would ratherhave his feet cut off than tread there. Wasn't it heart-rending, thatknick-knack shop which they had stuck beside it? A shameful thing, atwhich a bishop had shown himself so indignant that it was said he hadwritten to the Pope! He, Cazaban, who flattered himself with being afreethinker and a Republican of the old days, who already under theEmpire had voted for the Opposition candidates, assuredly had the rightto declare that he did not believe in their dirty Grotto, and that he didnot care a fig for it!

"Look here, monsieur, " he continued; "I am going to tell you a fact. Mybrother belongs to the municipal council, and it's through him that Iknow it. I must tell you first of all that we now have a Republicanmunicipal council, which is much worried by the demoralisation of thetown. You can no longer go out at night without meeting girls in thestreets--you know, those candle hawkers! They gad about with the driverswho come here when the season commences, and swell the suspiciousfloating population which comes no one knows whence. And I must alsoexplain to you the position of the Fathers towards the town. When theypurchased the land at the Grotto they signed an agreement by which theyundertook not to engage in any business there. Well, they have opened ashop in spite of their signature. Is not that an unfair rivalry, unworthyof honest people? So the new council decided on sending them a deputationto insist on the agreement being respected, and enjoining them to closetheir shop at once. What do you think they answered, monsieur? Oh! whatthey have replied twenty times before, what they will always answer, whenthey are reminded of their engagements: 'Very well, we consent to keepthem, but we are masters at our own place, and we'll close the Grotto!'"

He raised himself up, his razor in the air, and, repeating his words, hiseyes dilated by the enormity of the thing, he said, "'We'll close theGrotto. '"

Pierre, who was continuing his slow walk, suddenly stopped and said inhis face, "Well! the municipal council had only to answer, 'Close it. '"

At this Cazaban almost choked; the blood rushed to his face, he wasbeside himself, and stammered out "Close the Grotto?--Close the Grotto?"

"Certainly! As the Grotto irritates you and rends your heart; as it's acause of continual warfare, injustice, and corruption. Everything wouldbe over, we should hear no more about it. That would really be a capitalsolution, and if the council had the power it would render you a serviceby forcing the Fathers to carry out their threat. "

As Pierre went on speaking, Cazaban's anger subsided. He became very calmand somewhat pale, and in the depths of his big eyes the priest detectedan expression of increasing uneasiness. Had he not gone too far in hispassion against the Fathers? Many ecclesiastics did not like them;perhaps this young priest was simply at Lourdes for the purpose ofstirring-up an agitation against them. Then who knows?--it might possiblyresult in the Grotto being closed later on. But it was by the Grotto thatthey all lived. If the old city screeched with rage at only picking upthe crumbs, it was well pleased to secure even that windfall; and thefreethinkers themselves, who coined money with the pilgrims, likeeveryone else, held their tongues, ill at ease, and even frightened, whenthey found people too much of their opinion with regard to theobjectionable features of new Lourdes. It was necessary to be prudent. 

Cazaban thereupon returned to M. De Guersaint, whose other cheek he beganshaving, murmuring the while in an off-hand manner: "Oh! what I say aboutthe Grotto is not because it troubles me much in reality, and, besides, everyone must live. "

In the dining-room, the children, amidst deafening shouts, had justbroken one of the bowls, and Pierre, glancing through the open doorway, again noticed the engravings of religious subjects and the plaster Virginwith which the hairdresser had ornamented the apartment in order toplease his lodgers. And just then, too, a voice shouted from the firstfloor that the trunk was ready, and that they would be much obliged ifthe assistant would cord it as soon as he returned. 

However, Cazaban, in the presence of these two gentlemen whom, as amatter of fact, he did not know, remained suspicious and uneasy, hisbrain haunted by all sorts of disquieting suppositions. He was in despairat the idea of having to let them go away without learning anything aboutthem, especially after having exposed himself. If he had only been ableto withdraw the more rabid of his biting remarks about the Fathers. Accordingly, when M. De Guersaint rose to wash his chin, he yielded to adesire to renew the conversation. 

"Have you heard talk of yesterday's miracle? The town is quite upsidedown with it; more than twenty people have already given me an account ofwhat occurred. Yes, it seems they obtained an extraordinary miracle, aparalytic young lady got up and dragged her invalid carriage as far asthe choir of the Basilica. "

M. De Guersaint, who was about to sit down after wiping himself, gave acomplacent laugh. "That young lady is my daughter, " he said. 

Thereupon, under this sudden and fortunate flash of enlightenment, Cazaban became all smiles. He felt reassured, and combed M. DeGuersaint's hair with a masterly touch, amid a returning exuberance ofspeech and gesture. "Ah! monsieur, I congratulate you, I am flattered athaving you in my hands. Since the young lady your daughter is cured, yourfather's heart is at ease. Am I not right?"

And he also found a few pleasant words for Pierre. Then, when he haddecided to let them go, he looked at the priest with an air ofconviction, and remarked, like a sensible man, desirous of coming to aconclusion on the subject of miracles: "There are some, Monsieur l'Abbe, which are good fortunes for everybody. From time to time we require oneof that description. "

Outside, M. De Guersaint had to go and fetch the coachman, who was stilllaughing with the servant-girl, while her dog, dripping with water, wasshaking itself in the sun. In five minutes the trap brought them back tothe bottom of the Plateau de la Merlasse. The trip had taken a goodhalf-hour. Pierre wanted to keep the conveyance, with the idea of showingMarie the town without giving her too much fatigue. So, while the fatherran to the Grotto to fetch his daughter, he waited there beneath thetrees. 

The coachman at once engaged in conversation with the priest. He had litanother cigarette and showed himself very familiar. He came from avillage in the environs of Toulouse, and did not complain, for he earnedgood round sums each day at Lourdes. You fed well there, said he, youamused yourself, it was what you might call a good neighbourhood. He saidthese things with the _abandon_ of a man who was not troubled withreligious scruples, but yet did not forget the respect which he owed toan ecclesiastic. 

At last, from the top of his box, where he remained half lying down, dangling one of his legs, he allowed this remark to fall slowly from hislips: "Ah! yes, Monsieur l'Abbe, Lourdes has caught on well, but thequestion is whether it will all last long!"

Pierre, who was very much struck by the remark, was pondering on itsinvoluntary profundity, when M. De Guersaint reappeared, bringing Mariewith him. He had found her kneeling on the same spot, in the same act offaith and thankfulness, at the feet of the Blessed Virgin; and it seemedas if she had brought all the brilliant light of the Grotto away in hereyes, so vividly did they sparkle with divine joy at her cure. She wouldnot entertain a proposal to keep the trap. No, no! she preferred to go onfoot; she did not care about seeing the town, so long as she might foranother hour continue walking on her father's arm through the gardens, the streets, the squares, anywhere they pleased! And, when Pierre hadpaid the driver, it was she who turned into a path of the Esplanadegarden, delighted at being able to saunter in this wise beside the turfand the flower beds, under the great trees. The grass, the leaves, theshady solitary walks where you heard the everlasting rippling of theGave, were so sweet and fresh! But afterwards she wished to return by wayof the streets, among the crowd, that she might find the agitation, noise, and life, the need of which possessed her whole being. 

In the Rue St. Joseph, on perceiving the panorama, where the formerGrotto was depicted, with Bernadette kneeling down before it on the dayof the miracle of the candle, the idea occurred to Pierre to go in. Mariebecame as happy as a child; and even M. De Guersaint was full of innocentdelight, especially when he noticed that among the batch of pilgrims whodived at the same time as themselves into the depths of the obscurecorridor, several recognised in his daughter the girl so miraculouslyhealed the day before, who was already famous, and whose name flew frommouth to mouth. Up above, on the circular platform, when they came outinto the diffuse light, filtering through a vellum, there was a sort ofovation around Marie; soft whispers, beatifical glances, a rapture ofdelight in seeing, following, and touching her. Now glory had come, shewould be loved in that way wherever she went, and it was not until theshowman who gave the explanations had placed himself at the head of thelittle party of visitors, and begun to walk round, relating the incidentdepicted on the huge circular canvas, nearly five hundred feet in length, that she was in some measure forgotten. The painting represented theseventeenth apparition of the Blessed Virgin to Bernadette, on the daywhen, kneeling before the Grotto during her vision, she had heedlesslyleft her hand on the flame of the candle without burning it. The whole ofthe old primitive landscape of the Grotto was shown, the whole scene wasset out with all its historical personages: the doctor verifying themiracle watch in hand, the Mayor, the Commissary of Police, and thePublic Prosecutor, whose names the showman gave out, amidst the amazementof the public following him. 

Then, by an unconscious transition of ideas, Pierre recalled the remarkwhich the driver of the cabriolet had made a short time previously:"Lourdes has caught on well, but the question is whether it will all lastlong. " That, in fact, was the question. How many venerated sanctuarieshad thus been built already, at the bidding of innocent chosen children, to whom the Blessed Virgin had shown herself! It was always the samestory beginning afresh: an apparition; a persecuted shepherdess, who wascalled a liar; next the covert propulsion of human misery hungering afterillusion; then propaganda, and the triumph of the sanctuary shining likea star; and afterwards decline, and oblivion, when the ecstatic dream ofanother visionary gave birth to another sanctuary elsewhere. It seemed asif the power of illusion wore away; that it was necessary in the courseof centuries to displace it, set it amidst new scenery, under freshcircumstances, in order to renew its force. La Salette had dethroned theold wooden and stone Virgins that had healed; Lourdes had just dethronedLa Salette, pending the time when it would be dethroned itself by OurLady of to-morrow, she who will show her sweet, consoling features tosome pure child as yet unborn. Only, if Lourdes had met with such rapid, such prodigious fortune, it assuredly owed it to the little sincere soul, the delightful charm of Bernadette. Here there was no deceit, nofalsehood, merely the blossoming of suffering, a delicate sick child whobrought to the afflicted multitude her dream of justice and equality inthe miraculous. She was merely eternal hope, eternal consolation. Besides, all historical and social circumstances seem to have combined toincrease the need of this mystical flight at the close of a terriblecentury of positivist inquiry; and that was perhaps the reason whyLourdes would still long endure in its triumph, before becoming a merelegend, one of those dead religions whose powerful perfume hasevaporated. 

Ah! that ancient Lourdes, that city of peace and belief, the onlypossible cradle where the legend could come into being, how easily Pierreconjured it up before him, whilst walking round the vast canvas of thePanorama! That canvas said everything; it was the best lesson of thingsthat could be seen. The monotonous explanations of the showman were notheard; the landscape spoke for itself. First of all there was the Grotto, the rocky hollow beside the Gave, a savage spot suitable forreverie--bushy slopes and heaps of fallen stone, without a path amongthem; and nothing yet in the way of ornamentation--no monumental quay, nogarden paths winding among trimly cut shrubs; no Grotto set in order, deformed, enclosed with iron railings; above all, no shop for the sale ofreligious articles, that simony shop which was the scandal of all pioussouls. The Virgin could not have selected a more solitary and charmingnook wherein to show herself to the chosen one of her heart, the pooryoung girl who came thither still possessed by the dream of her painfulnights, even whilst gathering dead wood. And on the opposite side of theGave, behind the rock of the castle, was old Lourdes, confident andasleep. Another age was then conjured up; a small town, with narrowpebble-paved streets, black houses with marble dressings, and an antique, semi-Spanish church, full of old carvings, and peopled with visions ofgold and painted flesh. Communication with other places was only kept upby the Bagneres and Cauterets _diligences_, which twice a day forded theLapaca to climb the steep causeway of the Rue Basse. The spirit of thecentury had not breathed on those peaceful roofs sheltering a belatedpopulation which had remained childish, enclosed within the narrow limitsof strict religious discipline. There was no debauchery; a slow antiquecommerce sufficed for daily life, a poor life whose hardships were thesafeguards of morality. And Pierre had never better understood howBernadette, born in that land of faith and honesty, had flowered like anatural rose, budding on the briars of the road. 

"It's all the same very curious, " observed M. De Guersaint when theyfound themselves in the street again. "I'm not at all sorry I saw it. "

Marie was also laughing with pleasure. "One would almost think oneselfthere. Isn't it so, father? At times it seems as if the people were goingto move. And how charming Bernadette looks on her knees, in ecstasy, while the candle flame licks her fingers without burning them. "

"Let us see, " said the architect; "we have only an hour left, so we mustthink of making our purchases, if we wish to buy anything. Shall we takea look at the shops? We certainly promised Majeste to give him thepreference; but that does not prevent us from making a few inquiries. Eh!Pierre, what do you say?"

"Oh! certainly, as you like, " answered the priest. "Besides, it will giveus a walk. "

And he thereupon followed the young girl and her father, who returned tothe Plateau de la Merlasse. Since he had quitted the Panorama he felt asthough he no longer knew where he was. It seemed to him as if he had allat once been transported from one to another town, parted by centuries. He had left the solitude, the slumbering peacefulness of old Lourdes, which the dead light of the vellum had increased, to fall at last intonew Lourdes, sparkling with brightness and noisy with the crowd. Teno'clock had just struck, and extraordinary animation reigned on thefootways, where before breakfast an entire people was hastening tocomplete its purchases, so that it might have nothing but its departureto think of afterwards. The thousands of pilgrims of the nationalpilgrimage streamed along the thoroughfares and besieged the shops in afinal scramble. You would have taken the cries, the jostling, and thesudden rushes for those at some fair just breaking up amidst a ceaselessroll of vehicles. Many, providing themselves with provisions for thejourney, cleared the open-air stalls where bread and slices of sausagesand ham were sold. Others purchased fruit and wine; baskets were filledwith bottles and greasy parcels until they almost burst. A hawker who waswheeling some cheeses about on a small truck saw his goods carried off asif swept away by the wind. But what the crowd more particularly purchasedwere religious articles, and those hawkers whose barrows were loaded withstatuettes and sacred engravings were reaping golden gains. The customersat the shops stood in strings on the pavement; the women were belted withimmense chaplets, had Blessed Virgins tucked under their arms, and wereprovided with cans which they meant to fill at the miraculous spring. Carried in the hand or slung from the shoulder, some of them quite plainand others daubed over with a Lady of Lourdes in blue paint, these cansheld from one to ten quarts apiece; and, shining with all the brightnessof new tin, clashing, too, at times with the sharp jingle of stew-pans, they added a gay note to the aspect of the noisy multitude. And the feverof dealing, the pleasure of spending one's money, of returning home withone's pockets crammed with photographs and medals, lit up all faces witha holiday expression, transforming the radiant gathering into afair-field crowd with appetites either beyond control or satisfied. 

On the Plateau de la Merlasse, M. De Guersaint for a moment felt temptedto enter one of the finest and most patronised shops, on the board overwhich were these words in large letters: "Soubirous, Brother ofBernadette. "

"Eh! what if we were to make our purchases there? It would be moreappropriate, more interesting to remember. "

However, he passed on, repeating that they must see everything first ofall. 

Pierre had looked at the shop kept by Bernadette's brother with a heavyheart. It grieved him to find the brother selling the Blessed Virgin whomthe sister had beheld. However, it was necessary to live, and he hadreason to believe that, beside the triumphant Basilica resplendent withgold, the visionary's relatives were not making a fortune, thecompetition being so terrible. If on the one hand the pilgrims leftmillions behind them at Lourdes, on the other there were more than twohundred dealers in religious articles, to say nothing of the hotel andlodging-house keepers, to whom the largest part of the spoils fell; andthus the gain, so eagerly disputed, ended by being moderate enough afterall. Along the Plateau on the right and left of the repository kept byBernadette's brother, other shops appeared, an uninterrupted row of them, pressing one against the other, each occupying a division of a longwooden structure, a sort of gallery erected by the town, which derivedfrom it some sixty thousand francs a year. It formed a regular bazaar ofopen stalls, encroaching on the pavements so as to tempt people to stopas they passed along. For more than three hundred yards no other tradewas plied: a river of chaplets, medals, and statuettes streamed withoutend behind the windows; and in enormous letters on the boards aboveappeared the venerated names of Saint Roch, Saint Joseph, Jerusalem, TheImmaculate Virgin, The Sacred Heart of Mary, all the names in Paradisethat were most likely to touch and attract customers. 

"Really, " said M. De Guersaint, "I think it's the same thing all over theplace. Let us go anywhere. " He himself had had enough of it, thisinterminable display was quite exhausting him. 

"But as you promised to make the purchases at Majeste's, " said Marie, whowas not, in the least tired, "the best thing will be to go back. "

"That's it; let's return to Majeste's place. "

But the rows of shops began again in the Avenue de la Grotte. Theyswarmed on both sides; and among them here were jewellers, drapers, andumbrella-makers, who also dealt in religious articles. There was even aconfectioner who sold boxes of pastilles _a l'eau de Lourdes_, with afigure of the Virgin on the cover. A photographer's windows were crammedwith views of the Grotto and the Basilica, and portraits of Bishops andreverend Fathers of all Orders, mixed up with views of famous sites inthe neighbouring mountains. A bookseller displayed the last Catholicpublications, volumes bearing devout titles, and among them theinnumerable works published on Lourdes during the last twenty years, someof which had had a wonderful success, which was still fresh in memory. Inthis broad, populous thoroughfare the crowd streamed along in more openorder; their cans jingled, everyone was in high spirits, amid the brightsunrays which enfiladed the road from one end to the other. And it seemedas if there would never be a finish to the statuettes, the medals, andthe chaplets; one display followed another; and, indeed, there were milesof them running through the streets of the entire town, which was everthe same bazaar selling the same articles. 

In front of the Hotel of the Apparitions M. De Guersaint again hesitated. "Then it's decided, we are going to make our purchases there?" he asked. 

"Certainly, " said Marie. "See what a beautiful shop it is!"

And she was the first to enter the establishment, which was, in fact, oneof the largest in the street, occupying the ground-floor of the hotel onthe left hand. M. De Guersaint and Pierre followed her. 

Apolline, the niece of the Majestes, who was in charge of the place, wasstanding on a stool, taking some holy-water vases from a top shelf toshow them to a young man, an elegant bearer, wearing beautiful yellowgaiters. She was laughing with the cooing sound of a dove, and lookedcharming with her thick black hair and her superb eyes, set in a somewhatsquare face, which had a straight forehead, chubby cheeks, and full redlips. Jumping lightly to the ground, she exclaimed: "Then you don't thinkthat this pattern would please madame, your aunt?"

"No, no, " answered the bearer, as he went off. "Obtain the other pattern. I shall not leave until to-morrow, and will come back. "

When Apolline learnt that Marie was the young person visited by themiracle of whom Madame Majeste had been talking ever since the previousday, she became extremely attentive. She looked at her with her merrysmile, in which there was a dash of surprise and covert incredulity. However, like the clever saleswoman that she was, she was profuse incomplimentary remarks. "Ah, mademoiselle, I shall be so happy to sell toyou! Your miracle is so beautiful! Look, the whole shop is at yourdisposal. We have the largest choice. "

Marie was ill at ease. "Thank you, " she replied, "you are very good. Butwe have only come to buy a few small things. "

"If you will allow us, " said M. De Guersaint, "we will choose ourselves. "

"Very well. That's it, monsieur. Afterwards we will see!"

And as some other customers now came in, Apolline forgot them, returnedto her duties as a pretty saleswoman, with caressing words and seductiveglances, especially for the gentlemen, whom she never allowed to leaveuntil they had their pockets full of purchases. 

M. De Guersaint had only two francs left of the louis which Blanche, hiseldest daughter, had slipped into his hand when he was leaving, aspocket-money; and so he did not dare to make any large selection. ButPierre declared that they would cause him great pain if they did notallow him to offer them the few things which they would like to take awaywith them from Lourdes. It was therefore understood that they would firstof all choose a present for Blanche, and then Marie and her father shouldselect the souvenirs that pleased them best. 

"Don't let us hurry, " repeated M. De Guersaint, who had become very gay. "Come, Marie, have a good look. What would be most likely to pleaseBlanche?"

All three looked, searched, and rummaged. But their indecision increasedas they went from one object to another. With its counters, show-cases, and nests of drawers, furnishing it from top to bottom, the spacious shopwas a sea of endless billows, overflowing with all the religiousknick-knacks imaginable. There were the chaplets: skeins of chapletshanging along the walls, and heaps of chaplets lying in the drawers, fromhumble ones costing twenty sons a dozen, to those of sweet-scented wood, agate, and lapis-lazuli, with chains of gold or silver; and some of them, of immense length, made to go twice round the neck or waist, had carvedbeads, as large as walnuts, separated by death's-heads. Then there werethe medals: a shower of medals, boxes full of medals, of all sizes, ofall metals, the cheapest and the most precious. They bore differentinscriptions, they represented the Basilica, the Grotto, or theImmaculate Conception; they were engraved, _repoussees_, or enamelled, executed with care, or made by the gross, according to the price. Andnext there were the Blessed Virgins, great and small, in zinc, wood, ivory, and especially plaster; some entirely white, others tinted inbright colours, in accordance with the description given by Bernadette;the amiable and smiling face, the extremely long veil, the blue sash, andthe golden roses on the feet, there being, however, some slightmodification in each model so as to guarantee the copyright. And therewas another flood of other religious objects: a hundred varieties ofscapularies, a thousand different sorts of sacred pictures: fineengravings, large chromo-lithographs in glaring colours, submergedbeneath a mass of smaller pictures, which were coloured, gilded, varnished, decorated with bouquets of flowers, and bordered with lacepaper. And there was also jewellery: rings, brooches, and bracelets, loaded with stars and crosses, and ornamented with saintly figures. Finally, there was the Paris article, which rose above and submerged allthe rest: pencil-holders, purses, cigar-holders, paperweights, paper-knives, even snuff-boxes; and innumerable other objects on whichthe Basilica, Grotto, and Blessed Virgin ever and ever appeared, reproduced in every way, by every process that is known. Heaped togetherpell-mell in one of the cases reserved to articles at fifty centimesapiece were napkin-rings, egg-cups, and wooden pipes, on which was carvedthe beaming apparition of Our Lady of Lourdes. 

Little by little, M. De Guersaint, with the annoyance of a man who prideshimself on being an artist, became disgusted and quite sad. "But all thisis frightful, frightful!" he repeated at every new article he took up tolook at. 

Then he relieved himself by reminding Pierre of the ruinous attempt whichhe had made to improve the artistic quality of religious prints. Theremains of his fortune had been lost in that attempt, and the thoughtmade him all the more angry, in presence of the wretched productions withwhich the shop was crammed. Had anyone ever seen things of such idiotic, pretentious, and complicated ugliness! The vulgarity of the ideas and thesilliness of the expressions portrayed rivalled the commonplace characterof the composition. You were reminded of fashion-plates, the covers ofboxes of sweets, and the wax dolls' heads that revolve in hairdressers'windows; it was an art abounding in false prettiness, painfully childish, with no really human touch in it, no tone, and no sincerity. And thearchitect, who was wound up, could not stop, but went on to express hisdisgust with the buildings of new Lourdes, the pitiable disfigurement ofthe Grotto, the colossal monstrosity of the inclined ways, the disastrouslack of symmetry in the church of the Rosary and the Basilica, the formerlooking too heavy, like a corn market, whilst the latter had an anaemicalstructural leanness with no kind of style but the mongrel. 

"Ah! one must really be very fond of God, " he at last concluded, "to havecourage enough to come and adore Him amidst such horrors! They havefailed in everything, spoilt everything, as though out of pleasure. Notone of them has experienced that moment of true feeling, of realnaturalness and sincere faith, which gives birth to masterpieces. Theyare all clever people, but all plagiarists; not one has given his mindand being to the undertaking. And what must they not require to inspirethem, since they have failed to produce anything grand even in this landof miracles?"

Pierre did not reply, but he was very much struck by these reflections, which at last gave him an explanation of a feeling of discomfort that hehad experienced ever since his arrival at Lourdes. This discomfort arosefrom the difference between the modern surroundings and the faith of pastages which it sought to resuscitate. He thought of the old cathedralswhere quivered that faith of nations; he pictured the former attributesof worship--the images, the goldsmith's work, the saints in wood andstone--all of admirable power and beauty of expression. The fact was thatin those ancient times the workmen had been true believers, had giventheir whole souls and bodies and all the candour of their feelings totheir productions, just as M. De Guersaint said. But nowadays architectsbuilt churches with the same practical tranquillity that they erectedfive-storey houses, just as the religious articles, the chaplets, themedals, and the statuettes were manufactured by the gross in the populousquarters of Paris by merrymaking workmen who did not even follow theirreligion. And thus what slopwork, what toymakers', ironmongers' stuff itall was! of a prettiness fit to make you cry, a silly sentimentality fitto make your heart turn with disgust! Lourdes was inundated, devastated, disfigured by it all to such a point as to quite upset persons with anydelicacy of taste who happened to stray through its streets. It clashedjarringly with the attempted resuscitation of the legends, ceremonies, and processions of dead ages; and all at once it occurred to Pierre thatthe social and historical condemnation of Lourdes lay in this, that faithis forever dead among a people when it no longer introduces it into thechurches it builds or the chaplets it manufactures. 

However, Marie had continued examining the shelves with the impatience ofa child, hesitating, and finding nothing which seemed to her worthy ofthe great dream of ecstasy which she would ever keep within her. 

"Father, " she said, "it is getting late; you must take me back to thehospital; and to make up my mind, look, I will give Blanche this medalwith the silver chain. After all it's the most simple and prettiest thinghere. She will wear it; it will make her a little piece of jewellery. Asfor myself, I will take this statuette of Our Lady of Lourdes, this smallone, which is rather prettily painted. I shall place it in my room andsurround it with fresh flowers. It will be very nice, will it not?"

M. De Guersaint approved of her idea, and then busied himself with hisown choice. "O dear! oh dear! how embarrassed I am!" said he. 

He was examining some ivory-handled penholders capped with pea-likeballs, in which were microscopic photographs, and while bringing one ofthe little holes to his eye to look in it he raised an exclamation ofmingled surprise and pleasure. "Hallo! here's the Cirque de Gavarnie! Ah!it's prodigious; everything is there; how can that colossal panorama havebeen got into so small a space? Come, I'll take this penholder; it'scurious, and will remind me of my excursion. "

Pierre had simply chosen a portrait of Bernadette, the large photographwhich represents her on her knees in a black gown, with a handkerchieftied over her hair, and which is said to be the only one in existencetaken from life. He hastened to pay, and they were all three on the pointof leaving when Madame Majeste entered, protested, and positivelyinsisted on making Marie a little present, saying that it would bring herestablishment good-fortune. "I beg of you, mademoiselle, take ascapulary, " said she. "Look among those there. The Blessed Virgin whochose you will repay me in good luck. "

She raised her voice and made so much fuss that the purchasers fillingthe shop were interested, and began gazing at the girl with envious eyes. It was popularity bursting out again around her, a popularity which endedeven by reaching the street when the landlady went to the threshold ofthe shop, making signs to the tradespeople opposite and putting all theneighbourhood in a flutter. 

"Let us go, " repeated Marie, feeling more and more uncomfortable. 

But her father, on noticing a priest come in, detained her. "Ah! Monsieurl'Abbe des Hermoises!"

It was in fact the handsome Abbe, clad in a cassock of fine clothemitting a pleasant odour, and with an expression of soft gaiety on hisfresh-coloured face. He had not noticed his companion of the previousday, but had gone straight to Apolline and taken her on one side. AndPierre overheard him saying in a subdued tone: "Why didn't you bring memy three-dozen chaplets this morning?"

Apolline again began laughing with the cooing notes of a dove, and lookedat him sideways, roguishly, without answering. 

"They are for my little penitents at Toulouse. I wanted to place them atthe bottom of my trunk; and you offered to help me pack my linen. "

She continued laughing, and her pretty eyes sparkled. 

"However, I shall not leave before to-morrow. Bring them me to-night, will you not? When you are at liberty. It's at the end of the street, atDuchene's. "

Thereupon, with a slight movement of her red lips, and in a somewhatbantering way, which left him in doubt as to whether she would keep herpromise, she replied: "Certainly, Monsieur l'Abbe, I will go. "

They were now interrupted by M. De Guersaint, who came forward to shakethe priest's hand. And the two men at once began talking again of theCirque de Gavarnie: they had had a delightful trip, a most pleasant time, which they would never forget. Then they enjoyed a laugh at the expenseof their two companions, ecclesiastics of slender means, good-naturedfellows, who had much amused them. And the architect ended by remindinghis new friend that he had kindly promised to induce a personage atToulouse, who was ten times a millionaire, to interest himself in hisstudies on navigable balloons. "A first advance of a hundred thousandfrancs would be sufficient, " he said. 

"You can rely on me, " answered Abbe des Hermoises. "You will not haveprayed to the Blessed Virgin in vain. "

However, Pierre, who had kept Bernadette's portrait in his hand, had justthen been struck by the extraordinary likeness between Apolline and thevisionary. It was the same rather massive face, the same full thickmouth, and the same magnificent eyes; and he recollected that MadameMajeste had already pointed out to him this striking resemblance, whichwas all the more peculiar as Apolline had passed through a similarpoverty-stricken childhood at Bartres before her aunt had taken her withher to assist in keeping the shop. Bernadette! Apolline! What a strangeassociation, what an unexpected reincarnation at thirty years' distance!And, all at once, with this Apolline, who was so flightily merry andcareless, and in regard to whom there were so many odd rumours, newLourdes rose before his eyes: the coachmen, the candle-girls, the personswho let rooms and waylaid tenants at the railway station, the hundreds offurnished houses with discreet little lodgings, the crowd of freepriests, the lady hospitallers, and the simple passers-by, who came thereto satisfy their appetites. Then, too, there was the trading maniaexcited by the shower of millions, the entire town given up to lucre, theshops transforming the streets into bazaars which devoured one another, the hotels living gluttonously on the pilgrims, even to the Blue Sisterswho kept a _table d'hote_, and the Fathers of the Grotto who coined moneywith their God! What a sad and frightful course of events, the vision ofpure Bernadette inflaming multitudes, making them rush to the illusion ofhappiness, bringing a river of gold to the town, and from that momentrotting everything. The breath of superstition had sufficed to makehumanity flock thither, to attract abundance of money, and to corruptthis honest corner of the earth forever. Where the candid lily hadformerly bloomed there now grew the carnal rose, in the new loam ofcupidity and enjoyment. Bethlehem had become Sodom since an innocentchild had seen the Virgin. 

"Eh? What did I tell you?" exclaimed Madame Majeste, perceiving thatPierre was comparing her niece with the portrait. "Apolline is Bernadetteall over!"

The young girl approached with her amiable smile, flattered at first bythe comparison. 

"Let's see, let's see!" said Abbe des Hermoises, with an air of livelyinterest. 

He took the photograph in his turn, compared it with the girl, and thenexclaimed in amazement: "It's wonderful; the same features. I had notnoticed it before. Really I'm delighted--"

"Still I fancy she had a larger nose, " Apolline ended by remarking. 

The Abbe then raised an exclamation of irresistible admiration: "Oh! youare prettier, much prettier, that's evident. But that does not matter, anyone would take you for two sisters. "

Pierre could not refrain from laughing, he thought the remark sopeculiar. Ah! poor Bernadette was absolutely dead, and she had no sister. She could not have been born again; it would have been impossible for herto exist in the region of crowded life and passion which she had made. 

At length Marie went off leaning on her father's arm, and it was agreedthat they would both call and fetch her at the hospital to go to thestation together. More than fifty people were awaiting her in the streetin a state of ecstasy. They bowed to her and followed her; and one womaneven made her infirm child, whom she was bringing back from the Grotto, touch her gown. 

III. DEPARTURE

At half-past two o'clock the white train, which was to leave Lourdes atthree-forty, was already in the station, alongside the second platform. For three days it had been waiting on a siding, in the same state as whenit had come from Paris, and since it had been run into the station againwhite flags had been waving from the foremost and hindmost of itscarriages, by way of preventing any mistakes on the part of the pilgrims, whose entraining was usually a very long and troublesome affair. Moreover, all the fourteen trains of the pilgrimage were timed to leavethat day. The green train had started off at ten o'clock, followed by thepink and the yellow trains, and the others--the orange, the grey, and theblue--would start in turn after the white train had taken its departure. It was, indeed, another terrible day's work for the station staff, amidsta tumult and a scramble which altogether distracted them. 

However, the departure of the white train was always the event of the daywhich provoked most interest and emotion, for it took away with it allthe more afflicted patients, amongst whom were naturally those loved bythe Virgin and chosen by her for the miraculous cures. Accordingly, alarge, serried crowd was collected under the roofing of the spaciousplatform, a hundred yards in length, where all the benches were alreadycovered with waiting pilgrims and their parcels. In the refreshment-room, at one end of the buildings, men were drinking beer and women orderinglemonade at the little tables which had been taken by assault, whilst atthe other end bearers stood on guard at the goods entrance so as to keepthe way clear for the speedy passage of the patients, who would soon bearriving. And all along the broad platform there was incessant coming andgoing, poor people rushing hither and thither in bewilderment, prieststrotting along to render assistance, gentlemen in frock-coats looking onwith quiet inquisitiveness: indeed, all the jumbling and jostling of themost mixed, most variegated throng ever elbowed in a railway station. 

At three o'clock, however, the sick had not yet reached the station, andBaron Suire was in despair, his anxiety arising from the dearth ofhorses, for a number of unexpected tourists had arrived at Lourdes thatmorning and hired conveyances for Bareges, Cauterets, and Gavarnie. Atlast, however, the Baron espied Berthaud and Gerard arriving in allhaste, after scouring the town; and when he had rushed up to them theysoon pacified him by announcing that things were going splendidly. Theyhad been able to procure the needful animals, and the removal of thepatients from the hospital was now being carried out under the mostfavorable circumstances. Squads of bearers with their stretchers andlittle carts were already in the station yard, watching for the arrivalof the vans, breaks, and other vehicles which had been recruited. Areserve supply of mattresses and cushions was, moreover, heaped up besidea lamp-post. Nevertheless, just as the first patients arrived, BaronSuire again lost his head, whilst Berthaud and Gerard hastened to theplatform from which the train would start. There they began tosuperintend matters, and gave orders amidst an increasing scramble. 

Father Fourcade was on this platform, walking up and down alongside thetrain, on Father Massias's arm. Seeing Doctor Bonamy approach, he stoppedshort to speak to him: "Ah, doctor, " said he, "I am pleased to see you. Father Massias, who is about to leave us, was again telling me just nowof the extraordinary favor granted by the Blessed Virgin to thatinteresting young person, Mademoiselle Marie de Guersaint. There has notbeen such a brilliant miracle for years! It is signal good-fortune forus--a blessing which should render our labours fruitful. All Christendomwill be illumined, comforted, enriched by it. "

He was radiant with pleasure, and forthwith the doctor with hisclean-shaven face, heavy, peaceful features, and usually tired eyes, alsobegan to exult: "Yes, your reverence, it is prodigious, prodigious! Ishall write a pamphlet about it. Never was cure produced by supernaturalmeans in a more authentic manner. Ah! what a stir it will create!"

Then, as they had begun walking to and fro again, all three together, henoticed that Father Fourcade was dragging his leg with increaseddifficulty, leaning heavily the while on his companion's arm. "Is yourattack of gout worse, your reverence?" he inquired. "You seem to besuffering a great deal. "

"Oh! don't speak of it; I wasn't able to close my eyes all night! It isvery annoying that this attack should have come on me the very day of myarrival here! It might as well have waited. But there is nothing to bedone, so don't let us talk of it any more. I am, at all events, verypleased with this year's result. "

"Ah! yes, yes indeed, " in his turn said Father Massias, in a voice whichquivered with fervour; "we may all feel proud, and go away with ourhearts full of enthusiasm and gratitude. How many prodigies there havebeen, in addition to the healing of that young woman you spoke of! Thereis no counting all the miracles: deaf women and dumb women have recoveredtheir faculties, faces disfigured by sores have become as smooth as thehand, moribund consumptives have come to life again and eaten and danced!It is not a train of sufferers, but a train of resurrection, a train ofglory, that I am about to take back to Paris!"

He had ceased to see the ailing creatures around him, and in theblindness of his faith was soaring triumphantly. 

Then, alongside the carriages, whose compartments were beginning to fill, they all three continued their slow saunter, smiling at the pilgrims whobowed to them, and at times again stopping to address a kind word to somemournful woman who, pale and shivering, passed by upon a stretcher. Theyboldly declared that she was looking much better, and would assuredlysoon get well. 

However, the station-master, who was incessantly bustling about, passedby, calling in a shrill voice: "Don't block up the platform, please;don't block up the platform!" And on Berthaud pointing out to him that itwas, at all events, necessary to deposit the stretchers on the platformbefore hoisting the patients into the carriages, he became quite angry:"But, come, come; is it reasonable?" he asked. "Look at that littlehand-cart which has been left on the rails over yonder. I expect thetrain to Toulouse in a few minutes. Do you want your people to be crushedto death?"

Then he went off at a run to instruct some porters to keep the bewilderedflock of pilgrims away from the rails. Many of them, old and simplepeople, did not even recognise the colour of their train, and this wasthe reason why one and all wore cards of some particular hue hanging fromtheir necks, so that they might be led and entrained like marked cattle. And what a constant state of excitement it was, with the starting ofthese fourteen special trains, in addition to all the ordinary traffic, in which no change had been made. 

Pierre arrived, valise in hand, and found some difficulty in reaching theplatform. He was alone, for Marie had expressed an ardent desire to kneelonce more at the Grotto, so that her soul might burn with gratitudebefore the Blessed Virgin until the last moment; and so he had left M. DeGuersaint to conduct her thither whilst he himself settled the hotelbill. Moreover, he had made them promise that they would take a fly tothe station, and they would certainly arrive within a quarter of an hour. Meantime, his idea was to seek their carriage, and there rid himself ofhis valise. This, however, was not an easy task, and he only recognisedthe carriage eventually by the placard which had been swinging from it inthe sunlight and the storms during the last three days--a square ofpasteboard bearing the names of Madame de Jonquiere and Sisters Hyacintheand Claire des Anges. There could be no mistake, and Pierre againpictured the compartments full of his travelling companions. Somecushions already marked M. Sabathier's corner, and on the seat whereMarie had experienced such suffering he still found some scratches causedby the ironwork of her box. Then, having deposited his valise in his ownplace, he remained on the platform waiting and looking around him, with aslight feeling of surprise at not perceiving Doctor Chassaigne, who hadpromised to come and embrace him before the train started. 

Now that Marie was well again, Pierre had laid his bearer straps aside, and merely wore the red cross of the pilgrimage on his cassock. Thestation, of which he had caught but a glimpse, in the livid dawn amidstthe anguish of the terrible morning of their arrival, now surprised himby its spacious platforms, its broad exits, and its clear gaiety. Hecould not see the mountains, but some verdant slopes rose up on the otherside, in front of the waiting-rooms; and that afternoon the weather wasdelightfully mild, the sky of a milky whiteness, with light fleecy cloudsveiling the sun, whence there fell a broad diffuse light, like anacreous, pearly dust: "maiden's weather, " as country folk are wont tosay. 

The big clock had just struck three, and Pierre was looking at it when hesaw Madame Desagneaux and Madame Volmar arrive, followed by Madame deJonquiere and her daughter. These ladies, who had driven from thehospital in a landau, at once began looking for their carriage, and itwas Raymonde who first recognised the first-class compartment in whichshe had travelled from Paris. "Mamma, mamma, here; here it is!" shecalled. "Stay a little while with us; you have plenty of time to installyourself among your patients, since they haven't yet arrived. "

Pierre now again found himself face to face with Madame Volmar, and theirglances met. However, he gave no sign of recognition, and on her sidethere was but a slight sudden drooping of the eyelids. She had againassumed the air of a languid, indolent, black-robed woman, who modestlyshrinks back, well pleased to escape notice. Her brasier-like eyes nolonger glowed; it was only at long intervals that they kindled into aspark beneath the veil of indifference, the moire-like shade, whichdimmed them. 

"Oh! it was a fearful sick headache!" she was repeating to MadameDesagneaux. "And, you can see, I've hardly recovered the use of my poorhead yet. It's the journey which brings it on. It's the same thing everyyear. "

However, Berthaud and Gerard, who had just perceived the ladies, werehurrying up to them. That morning they had presented themselves at theHospital of Our Lady of Dolours, and Madame de Jonquiere had receivedthem in a little office near the linen-room. Thereupon, apologising withsmiling affability for making his request amidst such a hurly-burly, Berthaud had solicited the hand of Mademoiselle Raymonde for his cousin, Gerard. They at once felt themselves at ease, the mother, with some showof emotion, saying that Lourdes would bring the young couple good luck. And so the marriage was arranged in a few words, amidst generalsatisfaction. A meeting was even appointed for the fifteenth of Septemberat the Chateau of Berneville, near Caen, an estate belonging toRaymonde's uncle, the diplomatist, whom Berthaud knew, and to whom hepromised to introduce Gerard. Then Raymonde was summoned, and blushedwith pleasure as she placed her little hand in those of her betrothed. 

Binding her now upon the platform, the latter began paying her everyattention, and asking, "Would you like some pillows for the night? Don'tmake any ceremony about it; I can give you plenty, both for yourself andfor these ladies who are accompanying you. "

However, Raymonde gaily refused the offer, "No, no, " said she, "we arenot so delicate. Keep them for the poor sufferers. "

All the ladies were now talking together. Madame de Jonquiere declaredthat she was so tired, so tired that she no longer felt alive; and yetshe displayed great happiness, her eyes smiling as she glanced at herdaughter and the young man she was engaged to. But neither Berthaud norGerard could remain there; they had their duties to perform, andaccordingly took their leave, after reminding Madame de Jonquiere andRaymonde of the appointed meeting. It was understood, was it not, onSeptember 15th, at the Chateau of Berneville? Yes, yes, it wasunderstood! And then came fresh smiles and handshakes, whilst the eyes ofthe newly engaged couple--caressing, delighted eyes--added all that theydared not say aloud in the midst of such a throng. 

"What!" exclaimed little Madame Desagneaux, "you will go to Berneville onthe 15th? But if we stay at Trouville till the 10th, as my husband wishesto do, we will go to see you!" And then, turning towards Madame Volmar, who stood there silent, she added, "You ought to come as well, my dear. It would be so nice to meet there all together. "

But, with a slow wave of the hand and an air of weary indifference, Madame Volmar answered, "Oh! my holiday is all over; I am going home. "

Just then her eyes again met those of Pierre, who had remained standingnear the party, and he fancied that she became confused, whilst anexpression of indescribable suffering passed over her lifeless face. 

The Sisters of the Assumption were now arriving, and the ladies joinedthem in front of the cantine van. Ferrand, who had come with the Sistersfrom the hospital, got into the van, and then helped SisterSaint-Francois to mount upon the somewhat high footboard. Then heremained standing on the threshold of the van--transformed into a kitchenand containing all sorts of supplies for the journey, such as bread, broth, milk, and chocolate, --whilst Sister Hyacinthe and Sister Clairedes Anges, who were still on the platform, passed him his littlemedicine-chest and some small articles of luggage. 

"You are sure you have everything?" Sister Hyacinthe asked him. "Allright. Well, now you only have to go and lie down in your corner and getto sleep, since you complain that your services are not utilised. "

Ferrand began to laugh softly. "I shall help Sister Saint-Francois, " saidhe. "I shall light the oil-stove, wash the crockery, carry the cups ofbroth and milk to the patients whenever we stop, according to thetime-table hanging yonder; and if, all the same, you _should_ require adoctor, you will please come to fetch me. "

Sister Hyacinthe had also begun to laugh. "But we no longer require adoctor since all our patients are cured, " she replied; and, fixing hereyes on his, with her calm, sisterly air, she added, "Good-bye, MonsieurFerrand. "

He smiled again, whilst a feeling of deep emotion brought moisture to hiseyes. The tremulous accents of his voice expressed his conviction that hewould never be able to forget this journey, his joy at having seen heragain, and the souvenir of divine and eternal affection which he wastaking away with him. "Good-bye, Sister, " said he. 

Then Madame de Jonquiere talked of going to her carriage with SisterClaire des Anges and Sister Hyacinthe; but the latter assured her thatthere was no hurry, since the sick pilgrims were as yet scarcelyarriving. She left her, therefore, taking the other Sister with her, andpromising to see to everything. Moreover, she even insisted on riddingthe superintendent of her little bag, saying that she would find it onher seat when it was time for her to come. Thus the ladies continuedwalking and chatting gaily on the broad platform, where the atmospherewas so pleasant. 

Pierre, however, his eyes fixed upon the big clock, watched the minuteshasten by on the dial, and began to feel surprised at not seeing Mariearrive with her father. It was to be hoped that M. De Guersaint would notlose himself on the road!

The young priest was still watching, when, to his surprise, he caughtsight of M. Vigneron, in a state of perfect exasperation, pushing hiswife and little Gustave furiously before him. 

"Oh, Monsieur l'Abbe, " he exclaimed, "tell me where our carriage is! Helpme to put our luggage and this child in it. I am at my wit's end! Theyhave made me altogether lose my temper. "

Then, on reaching the second-class compartment, he caught hold ofPierre's hands, just as the young man was about to place little Gustaveinside, and quite an outburst followed. "Could you believe it? Theyinsist on my starting. They tell me that my return-ticket will not beavailable if I wait here till to-morrow. It was of no use my telling themabout the accident. As it is, it's by no means pleasant to have to staywith that corpse, watch over it, see it put in a coffin, and remove itto-morrow within the regulation time. But they pretend that it doesn'tconcern them, that they already make large enough reductions on thepilgrimage tickets, and that they can't enter into any questions ofpeople dying. "

Madame Vigneron stood all of a tremble listening to him, whilst Gustave, forgotten, staggering on his crutch with fatigue, raised his poor, inquisitive, suffering face. 

"But at all events, " continued the irate father, "as I told them, it's acase of compulsion. What do they expect me to do with that corpse? Ican't take it under my arm, and bring it them to-day, like an article ofluggage! I am therefore absolutely obliged to remain behind. But no! ah!how many stupid and wicked people there are!"

"Have you spoken to the station-master?" asked Pierre. 

"The station-master! Oh! he's somewhere about, in the midst of thescramble. They were never able to find him. How could you have anythingdone properly in such a bear-garden? Still, I mean to rout him out, andgive him a bit of my mind!"

Then, perceiving his wife standing beside him motionless, glued as itwere to the platform, he cried: "What are you doing there? Get in, sothat we may pass you the youngster and the parcels!"

With these words he pushed her in, and threw the parcels after her, whilst the young priest took Gustave in his arms. The poor little fellow, who was as light as a bird, seemingly thinner than before, consumed bysores, and so full of pain, raised a faint cry. "Oh, my dear child, haveI hurt you?" asked Pierre. 

"No, no, Monsieur l'Abbe, but I've been moved about so much to-day, andI'm very tired this afternoon. " As he spoke, he smiled with his usualintelligent and mournful expression, and then, sinking back into hiscorner, closed his eyes, exhausted, indeed done for, by this fearful tripto Lourdes. 

"As you can very well understand, " now resumed M. Vigneron, "it by nomeans amuses me to stay here, kicking my heels, while my wife and my songo back to Paris without me. They have to go, however, for life at thehotel is no longer bearable; and besides, if I kept them with me, and therailway people won't listen to reason, I should have to pay three extrafares. And to make matters worse, my wife hasn't got much brains. I'mafraid she won't be able to manage things properly. "

Then, almost breathless, he overwhelmed Madame Vigneron with the mostminute instructions--what she was to do during the journey, how she wasto get back home on arriving in Paris, and what steps she was to take ifGustave was to have another attack. Somewhat scared, she responded, inall docility, to each recommendation: "Yes, yes, dear--of course, dear, of course. "

But all at once her husband's rage came back to him. "After all, " heshouted, "what I want to know is whether my return ticket be good or not!I must know for certain! They must find that station-master for me!"

He was already on the point of rushing away through the crowd, when henoticed Gustave's crutch lying on the platform. This was disastrous, andhe raised his eyes to heaven as though to call Providence to witness thathe would never be able to extricate himself from such awfulcomplications. And, throwing the crutch to his wife, he hurried off, distracted and shouting, "There, take it! You forget everything!"

The sick pilgrims were now flocking into the station, and, as on theoccasion of their arrival, there was plenty of disorderly carting alongthe platform and across the lines. All the abominable ailments, all thesores, all the deformities, went past once more, neither their gravitynor their number seeming to have decreased; for the few cures which hadbeen effected were but a faint inappreciable gleam of light amidst thegeneral mourning. They were taken back as they had come. The littlecarts, laden with helpless old women with their bags at their feet, grated over the rails. The stretchers on which you saw inflated bodiesand pale faces with glittering eyes, swayed amidst the jostling of thethrong. There was wild and senseless haste, indescribable confusion, questions, calls, sudden running, all the whirling of a flock whichcannot find the entrance to the pen. And the bearers ended by losingtheir heads, no longer knowing which direction to take amidst the warningcries of the porters, who at each moment were frightening people, distracting them with anguish. "Take care, take care over there! Makehaste! No, no, don't cross! The Toulouse train, the Toulouse train!"

Retracing his steps, Pierre again perceived the ladies, Madame deJonquiere and the others, still gaily chatting together. Lingering nearthem, he listened to Berthaud, whom Father Fourcade had stopped, tocongratulate him on the good order which had been maintained throughoutthe pilgrimage. The ex-public prosecutor was now bowing his thanks, feeling quite flattered by this praise. "Is it not a lesson for theirRepublic, your reverence?" he asked. "People get killed in Paris whensuch crowds as these celebrate some bloody anniversary of their hatefulhistory. They ought to come and take a lesson here. "

He was delighted with the thought of being disagreeable to the Governmentwhich had compelled him to resign. He was never so happy as when womenwere just saved from being knocked over amidst the great concourse ofbelievers at Lourdes. However, he did not seem to be satisfied with theresults of the political propaganda which he came to further there, during three days, every year. Fits of impatience came over him, thingsdid not move fast enough. When did Our Lady of Lourdes mean to bring backthe monarchy?

"You see, your reverence, " said he, "the only means, the real triumph, would be to bring the working classes of the towns here _en masse_. Ishall cease dreaming, I shall devote myself to that entirely. Ah! if onecould only create a Catholic democracy!"

Father Fourcade had become very grave. His fine, intelligent eyes filledwith a dreamy expression, and wandered far away. How many times alreadyhad he himself made the creation of that new people the object of hisefforts! But was not the breath of a new Messiah needed for theaccomplishment of such a task? "Yes, yes, " he murmured, "a Catholicdemocracy; ah! the history of humanity would begin afresh!"

But Father Massias interrupted him in a passionate voice, saying that allthe nations of the earth would end by coming; whilst Doctor Bonamy, whoalready detected a slight subsidence of fervour among the pilgrims, wagged his head and expressed the opinion that the faithful ones of theGrotto ought to increase their zeal. To his mind, success especiallydepended on the greatest possible measure of publicity being given to themiracles. And he assumed a radiant air and laughed complacently whilstpointing to the tumultuous _defile_ of the sick. "Look at them!" said he. "Don't they go off looking better? There are a great many who, althoughthey don't appear to be cured, are nevertheless carrying the germs ofcure away with them; of that you may be certain! Ah! the good people;they do far more than we do all together for the glory of Our Lady ofLourdes!"

However, he had to check himself, for Madame Dieulafay was passing beforethem, in her box lined with quilted silk. She was deposited in front ofthe door of the first-class carriage, in which a maid was already placingthe luggage. Pity came to all who beheld the unhappy woman, for she didnot seem to have awakened from her prostration during her three days'sojourn at Lourdes. What she had been when they had removed her from thecarriage on the morning of her arrival, that she also was now when thebearers were about to place her inside it again--clad in lace, coveredwith jewels, still with the lifeless, imbecile face of a mummy slowlyliquefying; and, indeed, one might have thought that she had become yetmore wasted, that she was being taken back diminished, shrunken more andmore to the proportions of a child, by the march of that horrible diseasewhich, after destroying her bones, was now dissolving the softened fibresof her muscles. Inconsolable, bowed down by the loss of their last hope, her husband and sister, their eyes red, were following her with AbbeJudaine, even as one follows a corpse to the grave. 

"No, no! not yet!" said the old priest to the bearers, in order toprevent them from placing the box in the carriage. "She will have timeenough to roll along in there. Let her have the warmth of that lovely skyabove her till the last possible moment. "

Then, seeing Pierre near him, he drew him a few steps aside, and, in avoice broken by grief, resumed: "Ah! I am indeed distressed. Again thismorning I had a hope. I had her taken to the Grotto, I said my mass forher, and came back to pray till eleven o'clock. But nothing came of it;the Blessed Virgin did not listen to me. Although she cured me, a poor, useless old man like me, I could not obtain from her the cure of thisbeautiful, young, and wealthy woman, whose life ought to be a continual_fete_. Undoubtedly the Blessed Virgin knows what she ought to do betterthan ourselves, and I bow and bless her name. Nevertheless, my soul isfull of frightful sadness. "

He did not tell everything; he did not confess the thought which wasupsetting him, simple, childish, worthy man that he was, whose life hadnever been troubled by either passion or doubt. But his thought was thatthose poor weeping people, the husband and the sister, had too manymillions, that the presents they had brought were too costly, that theyhad given far too much money to the Basilica. A miracle is not to bebought. The wealth of the world is a hindrance rather than an advantagewhen you address yourself to God. Assuredly, if the Blessed Virgin hadturned a deaf ear to their entreaties, had shown them but a stern, coldcountenance, it was in order that she might the more attentively listento the weak voices of the lowly ones who had come to her with emptyhands, with no other wealth than their love, and these she had loadedwith grace, flooded with the glowing affection of her Divine Motherhood. And those poor wealthy ones, who had not been heard, that sister and thathusband, both so wretched beside the sorry body they were taking awaywith them, they themselves felt like pariahs among the throng of thehumble who had been consoled or healed; they seemed embarrassed by theirvery luxury, and recoiled, awkward and ill at ease, covered with shame atthe thought that Our Lady of Lourdes had relieved beggars whilst nevercasting a glance upon that beautiful and powerful lady agonising untodeath amidst all her lace!

All at once it occurred to Pierre that he might have missed seeing M. DeGuersaint and Marie arrive, and that they were perhaps already in thecarriage. He returned thither, but there was still only his valise on theseat. Sister Hyacinthe and Sister Claire des Anges, however, had begun toinstall themselves, pending the arrival of their charges, and as Gerardjust then brought up M. Sabathier in a little handcart, Pierre helped toplace him in the carriage, a laborious task which put both the youngpriest and Gerard into a perspiration. The ex-professor, who lookeddisconsolate though very calm, at once settled himself in his corner. 

"Thank you, gentlemen, " said he. "That's over, thank goodness. And nowthey'll only have to take me out at Paris. "

After wrapping a rug round his legs, Madame Sabathier, who was alsothere, got out of the carriage and remained standing near the open door. She was talking to Pierre when all at once she broke off to say: "Ah!here's Madame Maze coming to take her seat. She confided in me the otherday, you know. She's a very unhappy little woman. "

Then, in an obliging spirit, she called to her and offered to watch overher things. But Madame Maze shook her head, laughed, and gesticulated asthough she were out of her senses. 

"No, no, I am not going, " said she. 

"What! you are not going back?"

"No, no, I am not going--that is, I am, but not with you, not with you!"

She wore such an extraordinary air, she looked so bright, that Pierre andMadame Sabathier found it difficult to recognise her. Her fair, prematurely faded face was radiant, she seemed to be ten years younger, suddenly aroused from the infinite sadness into which desertion hadplunged her. And, at last, her joy overflowing, she raised a cry: "I amgoing off with him! Yes, he has come to fetch me, he is taking me withhim. Yes, yes, we are going to Luchon together, together!"

Then, with a rapturous glance, she pointed out a dark, sturdy-lookingyoung man, with gay eyes and bright red lips, who was purchasing somenewspapers. "There! that's my husband, " said she, "that handsome manwho's laughing over there with the newspaper-girl. He turned up hereearly this morning, and he's carrying me off. We shall take the Toulousetrain in a couple of minutes. Ah! dear madame, I told you of all myworries, and you can understand my happiness, can't you?"

However, she could not remain silent, but again spoke of the frightfulletter which she had received on Sunday, a letter in which he haddeclared to her that if she should take advantage of her sojourn atLourdes to come to Luchon after him, he would not open the door to her. And, think of it, theirs had been a love match! But for ten years he hadneglected her, profiting by his continual journeys as a commercialtraveller to take friends about with him from one to the other end ofFrance. Ah! that time she had thought it all over, she had asked theBlessed Virgin to let her die, for she knew that the faithless one was atthat very moment at Luchon with two friends. What was it then that hadhappened? A thunderbolt must certainly have fallen from heaven. Those twofriends must have received a warning from on high--perhaps they haddreamt that they were already condemned to everlasting punishment. At allevents they had fled one evening without a word of explanation, and he, unable to live alone, had suddenly been seized with a desire to fetch hiswife and keep her with him for a week. Grace must have certainly fallenon him, though he did not say it, for he was so kind and pleasant thatshe could not do otherwise than believe in a real beginning ofconversion. 

"Ah! how grateful I am to the Blessed Virgin, " she continued; "she alonecan have acted, and I well understood her last evening. It seemed to methat she made me a little sign just at the very moment when my husbandwas making up his mind to come here to fetch me. I asked him at what timeit was that the idea occurred to him, and the hours fit in exactly. Ah!there has been no greater miracle. The others make me smile with theirmended legs and their vanished sores. Blessed be Our Lady of Lourdes, whohas healed my heart!"

Just then the sturdy young man turned round, and she darted away to joinhim, so full of delight that she forgot to bid the others good-bye. Andit was at this moment, amidst the growing crowd of patients whom thebearers were bringing, that the Toulouse train at last came in. Thetumult increased, the confusion became extraordinary. Bells rang andsignals worked, whilst the station-master was seen rushing up, shoutingwith all the strength of his lungs: "Be careful there! Clear the line atonce!"

A railway _employe_ had to rush from the platform to push a littlevehicle, which had been forgotten on the line, with an old woman in it, out of harm's way; however, yet another scared band of pilgrims ranacross when the steaming, growling engine was only thirty yards distant. Others, losing their heads, would have been crushed by the wheels ifporters had not roughly caught them by the shoulders. Then, withouthaving pounded anybody, the train at last stopped alongside themattresses, pillows, and cushions lying hither and thither, and thebewildered, whirling groups of people. The carriage doors opened and atorrent of travellers alighted, whilst another torrent climbed in, thesetwo obstinately contending currents bringing the tumult to a climax. Faces, first wearing an inquisitive expression, and then overcome bystupefaction at the astonishing sight, showed themselves at the windowsof the doors which remained closed; and, among them, one especiallynoticed the faces of two remarkably pretty girls, whose large candid eyesended by expressing the most dolorous compassion. 

Followed by her husband, however, Madame Maze had climbed into one of thecarriages, feeling as happy and buoyant as if she were in her twentiethyear again, as on the already distant evening of her honeymoon journey. And the doors having been slammed, the engine gave a loud whistle andbegan to move, going off slowly and heavily between the throng, which, inthe rear of the train, flowed on to the lines again like an invadingtorrent whose flood-gates have been swept away. 

"Bar the platform!" shouted the station-master to his men. "Keep watchwhen the engine comes up!"

The belated patients and pilgrims had arrived during this alert. LaGrivotte passed by with her feverish eyes and excited, dancing gait, followed by Elise Rouquet and Sophie Couteau, who were very gay, andquite out of breath through running. All three hastened to theircarriage, where Sister Hyacinthe scolded them. They had almost been leftbehind at the Grotto, where, at times, the pilgrims lingered forgetfully, unable to tear themselves away, still imploring and entreating theBlessed Virgin, when the train was waiting for them at therailway-station. 

All at once Pierre, who likewise was anxious, no longer knowing what tothink, perceived M. De Guersaint and Marie quietly talking with AbbeJudaine on the covered platform. He hastened to join them, and told themof his impatience. "What have you been doing?" he asked. "I was losingall hope. "

"What have we been doing?" responded M. De Guersaint, with quietastonishment. "We were at the Grotto, as you know very well. There was apriest there, preaching in a most remarkable manner, and we should stillbe there if I hadn't remembered that we had to leave. And we took a flyhere, as we promised you we would do. "

He broke off to look at the clock. "But hang it all!" he added, "there'sno hurry. The train won't start for another quarter of an hour. "

This was true. Then Marie, smiling with divine joy, exclaimed: "Oh! ifyou only knew, Pierre, what happiness I have brought away from that lastvisit to the Blessed Virgin. I saw her smile at me, I felt her giving mestrength to live. Really, that farewell was delightful, and you must notscold us, Pierre. "

He himself had begun to smile, somewhat ill at ease, however, as hethought of his nervous fidgeting. Had he, then, experienced so keen adesire to get far away from Lourdes? Had he feared that the Grotto mightkeep Marie, that she might never come away from it again? Now that shewas there beside him, he was astonished at having indulged such thoughts, and felt himself to be very calm. 

However, whilst he was advising them to go and take their seats in thecarriage, he recognised Doctor Chassaigne hastily approaching. "Ah! mydear doctor, " he said, "I was waiting for you. I should have been sorryindeed to have gone away without embracing you. "

But the old doctor, who was trembling with emotion, interrupted him. "Yes, yes, I am late. But ten minutes ago, just as I arrived, I caughtsight of that eccentric fellow, the Commander, and had a talk with himover yonder. He was sneering at the sight of your people taking the trainagain to go and die at home, when, said he, they ought to have done sobefore coming to Lourdes. Well, all at once, while he was talking likethis, he fell on the ground before me. It was his third attack ofparalysis; the one he had long been expecting. "

"Oh! _mon Dieu_, " murmured Abbe Judaine, who heard the doctor, "he wasblaspheming. Heaven has punished him. "

M. De Guersaint and Marie were listening, greatly interested and deeplymoved. 

"I had him carried yonder, into that shed, " continued the doctor. "It isall over; I can do nothing. He will doubtless be dead before a quarter ofan hour has gone by. But I thought of a priest, and hastened up to you. "

Then, turning towards Abbe Judaine, M. Chassaigne added: "Come with me, Monsieur le Cure; you know him. We cannot let a Christian departunsuccoured. Perhaps he will be moved, recognise his error, and becomereconciled with God. "

Abbe Judaine quickly followed the doctor, and in the rear went M. DeGuersaint, leading Marie and Pierre, whom the thought of this tragedyimpassioned. All five entered the goods shed, at twenty paces from thecrowd which was still bustling and buzzing, without a soul in itexpecting that there was a man dying so near by. 

In a solitary corner of the shed, between two piles of sacks filled withoats, lay the Commander, on a mattress borrowed from the Hospitalityreserve supply. He wore his everlasting frock-coat, with its buttonholedecked with a broad red riband, and somebody who had taken the precautionto pick up his silver-knobbed walking-stick had carefully placed it onthe ground beside the mattress. 

Abbe Judaine at once leant over him. "You recognise us, you can hear us, my poor friend, can't you?" asked the priest. 

Only the Commander's eyes now appeared to be alive; but they _were_alive, still glittering brightly with a stubborn flame of energy. Theattack had this time fallen on his right side, almost entirely deprivinghim of the power of speech. He could only stammer a few words, by whichhe succeeded in making them understand that he wished to die there, without being moved or worried any further. He had no relative atLourdes, where nobody knew anything either of his former life or hisfamily. For three years he had lived there happily on the salary attachedto his little post at the station, and now he at last beheld his ardent, his only desire, approaching fulfilment--the desire that he might departand fall into the eternal sleep. His eyes expressed the great joy he feltat being so near his end. 

"Have you any wish to make known to us?" resumed Abbe Judaine. "Cannot webe useful to you in any way?"

No, no; his eyes replied that he was all right, well pleased. For threeyears past he had never got up in the morning without hoping that bynight time he would be sleeping in the cemetery. Whenever he saw the sunshine he was wont to say in an envious tone: "What a beautiful day fordeparture!" And now that death was at last at hand, ready to deliver himfrom his hateful existence, it was indeed welcome. 

"I can do nothing, science is powerless. He is condemned, " said DoctorChassaigne in a low, bitter tone to the old priest, who begged him toattempt some effort. 

However, at that same moment it chanced that an aged woman, a pilgrim offourscore years, who had lost her way and knew not whither she was going, entered the shed. Lame and humpbacked, reduced to the stature ofchildhood's days, afflicted with all the ailments of extreme old age, shewas dragging herself along with the assistance of a stick, and at herside was slung a can full of Lourdes water, which she was taking awaywith her, in the hope of yet prolonging her old age, in spite of all itsfrightful decay. For a moment her senile, imbecile mind was quite scared. She stood looking at that outstretched, stiffened man, who was dying. Then a gleam of grandmotherly kindliness appeared in the depths of herdim, vague eyes; and with the sisterly feelings of one who was very agedand suffered very grievously she drew nearer, and, taking hold of her canwith her hands, which never ceased shaking, she offered it to the man. 

To Abbe Judaine this seemed like a sudden flash of light, an inspirationfrom on high. He, who had prayed so fervently and so often for the cureof Madame Dieulafay without being heard by the Blessed Virgin, now glowedwith fresh faith in the conviction that if the Commander would only drinkthat water he would be cured. 

The old priest fell upon his knees beside the mattress. "O brother!" hesaid, "it is God who has sent you this woman. Reconcile yourself withGod, drink and pray, whilst we ourselves implore the divine mercy withour whole souls. God will prove His power to you; God will work the greatmiracle of setting you erect once more, so that you may yet spend manyyears upon this earth, loving Him and glorifying Him. "

No, no! the Commander's sparkling eyes cried no! He, indeed, show himselfas cowardly as those flocks of pilgrims who came from afar, through somany fatigues, in order to drag themselves on the ground and sob and begHeaven to let them live a month, a year, ten years longer! It was sopleasant, so simple to die quietly in your bed. You turned your face tothe wall and you died. 

"Drink, O my brother, I implore you!" continued the old priest. "It islife that you will drink, it is strength and health, the very joy ofliving. Drink that you may become young again, that you may begin a newand pious life; drink that you may sing the praises of the Divine Mother, who will have saved both your body and your soul. She is speaking to me, your resurrection is certain. "

But no! but no! The eyes refused, repelled the offer of life with growingobstinacy, and in their expression now appeared a covert fear of themiraculous. The Commander did not believe; for three years he had beenshrugging his shoulders at the pretended cases of cure. But could oneever tell in this strange world of ours? Such extraordinary things didsometimes happen. And if by chance their water should really have asupernatural power, and if by force they should make him drink some ofit, it would be terrible to have to live again--to endure once more thepunishment of a galley-slave existence, that abomination whichLazarus--the pitiable object of the great miracle--had suffered twice. No, no, he would not drink; he would not incur the fearful risk ofresurrection. 

"Drink, drink, my brother, " repeated Abbe Judaine, who was now in tears;"do not harden your heart to refuse the favours of Heaven. "

And then a terrible thing was seen; this man, already half dead, raisedhimself, shaking off the stifling bonds of paralysis, loosening for asecond his tied tongue, and stammering, growling in a hoarse voice: "No, no, NO!"

Pierre had to lead the stupefied old woman away and put her in the rightdirection again. She had failed to understand that refusal of the waterwhich she herself was taking home with her like an inestimable treasure, the very gift of God's eternity to the poor who did not wish to die. Lameof one leg, humpbacked, dragging the sorry remnants of her fourscoreyears along by the assistance of her stick, she disappeared among thetramping crowd, consumed by the passion of being, eager for space, air, sunshine, and noise. 

Marie and her father had shuddered in presence of that appetite fordeath, that greedy hungering for the end which the Commander showed. Ah!to sleep, to sleep without a dream, in the infinite darkness forever andever--nothing in the world could have seemed so sweet to him. He did nothope in a better life; he had no desire to become happy, at last, inParadise where equality and justice would reign. His sole longing was forblack night and endless sleep, the joy of being no more, of never, neverbeing again. And Doctor Chassaigne also had shuddered, for he alsonourished but one thought, the thought of the happy moment when he woulddepart. But, in his case, on the other side of this earthly existence hewould find his dear lost ones awaiting him, at the spot where eternallife began; and how icy cold all would have seemed had he but for asingle moment thought that he might not meet them there. 

Abbe Judaine painfully rose up. It had seemed to him that the Commanderwas now fixing his bright eyes upon Marie. Deeply grieved that hisentreaties should have been of no avail, the priest wished to show thedying man an example of that goodness of God which he repulsed. 

"You recognise her, do you not?" he asked. "Yes, it is the young lady whoarrived here on Saturday so ill, with both legs paralysed. And you seeher now, so full of health, so strong, so beautiful. Heaven has takenpity on her, and now she is reviving to youth, to the long life she wasborn to live. Do you feel no regret in seeing her? Would you also likeher to be dead? would you have advised her not to drink the water?"

The Commander could not answer; but his eyes no longer strayed fromMarie's young face, on which one read such great happiness at havingresuscitated, such vast hopes in countless morrows; and tears appeared inthose fixed eyes of his, gathered under their lids, and rolled down hischeeks, which were already cold. He was certainly weeping for her; hemust have been thinking of that other miracle which he had wishedher--that if she should be cured, she might be happy. It was thetenderness of an old man, who knows the miseries of this world, stirredto pity by the thought of all the sorrows which awaited this youngcreature. Ah! poor woman, how many times; perhaps, might she regret thatshe had not died in her twentieth year!

Then the Commander's eyes grew very dim, as though those last pitifultears had dissolved them. It was the end; coma was coming; the mind wasdeparting with the breath. He slightly turned, and died. 

Doctor Chassaigne at once drew Marie aside. "The train's starting, " hesaid; "make haste, make haste!"

Indeed, the loud ringing of a bell was clearly resounding above thegrowing tumult of the crowd. And the doctor, having requested two bearersto watch the body, which would be removed later on when the train hadgone, desired to accompany his friends to their carriage. 

They hastened their steps. Abbe Judaine, who was in despair, joined themafter saying a short prayer for the repose of that rebellious soul. However, while Marie, followed by Pierre and M. De Guersaint, was runningalong the platform, she was stopped once more, and this time by DoctorBonamy, who triumphantly presented her to Father Fourcade. "Here isMademoiselle de Guersaint, your reverence, the young lady who was healedso marvellously yesterday. "

The radiant smile of a general who is reminded of his most decisivevictory appeared on Father Fourcade's face. "I know, I know; I wasthere, " he replied. "God has blessed you among all women, my deardaughter; go, and cause His name to be worshipped. "

Then he congratulated M. De Guersaint, whose paternal pride savoureddivine enjoyment. It was the ovation beginning afresh--the concert ofloving words and enraptured glances which had followed the girl throughthe streets of Lourdes that morning, and which again surrounded her atthe moment of departure. The bell might go on ringing; a circle ofdelighted pilgrims still lingered around her; it seemed as if she werecarrying away in her person all the glory of the pilgrimage, the triumphof religion, which would echo and echo to the four corners of the earth. 

And Pierre was moved as he noticed the dolorous group which MadameJousseur and M. Dieulafay formed near by. Their eyes were fixed uponMarie; like the others, they were astonished by the resurrection of thisbeautiful girl, whom they had seen lying inert, emaciated, with ashenface. Why should that child have been healed? Why not the young woman, the dear woman, whom they were taking home in a dying state? Theirconfusion, their sense of shame, seemed to increase; they drew back, uneasy, like pariahs burdened with too much wealth; and it was a greatrelief for them when, three bearers having with difficulty placed MadameDieulafay in the first-class compartment, they themselves were able tovanish into it in company with Abbe Judaine. 

The _employes_ were already shouting, "Take your seats! take your seats, "and Father Massias, the spiritual director of the train, had returned tohis compartment, leaving Father Fourcade on the platform leaning onDoctor Bonamy's shoulder. In all haste Gerard and Berthaud again salutedthe ladies, while Raymonde got in to join Madame Desagneaux and MadameVolmar in their corner; and Madame de Jonquiere at last ran off to hercarriage, which she reached at the same time as the Guersaints. There washustling, and shouting, and wild running from one to the other end of thelong train, to which the engine, a copper engine, glittering like a star, had just been coupled. 

Pierre was helping Marie into the carriage, when M. Vigneron, coming backat a gallop, shouted to him: "It'll be good to-morrow, it'll be goodtomorrow!" Very red in the face, he showed and waved his ticket, and thengalloped off again to the compartment where his wife and son had theirseats, in order to announce the good news to them. 

When Marie and her father were installed in their places, Pierre lingeredfor another moment on the platform with Doctor Chassaigne, who embracedhim paternally. The young man wished to induce the doctor to return toParis and take some little interest in life again. But M. Chassaigneshook his head. "No, no, my dear child, " he replied. "I shall remainhere. They are here, they keep me here. " He was speaking of his dear lostones. Then, very gently and lovingly, he said, "Farewell. "

"Not farewell, my dear doctor; till we meet again. "

"Yes, yes, farewell. The Commander was right, you know; nothing can be sosweet as to die, but to die in order to live again. "

Baron Suire was now giving orders for the removal of the white flags onthe foremost and hindmost carriages of the train; the shouts of therailway _employes_ were ringing out in more and more imperious tones, "Take your seats! take your seats!" and now came the supreme scramble, the torrent of belated pilgrims rushing up distracted, breathless, andcovered with perspiration. Madame de Jonquiere and Sister Hyacinthe werecounting their party in the carriage. La Grivotte, Elise Rouquet, andSophie Couteau were all three there. Madame Sabathier, too, had taken herseat in front of her husband, who, with his eyes half closed, waspatiently awaiting the departure. However, a voice inquired, "And MadameVincent, isn't she going back with us?"

Thereupon Sister Hyacinthe, who was leaning out of the window exchanginga last smile with Ferrand, who stood at the door of the cantine van, exclaimed: "Here she comes!"

Madame Vincent crossed the lines, rushed up, the last of all, breathlessand haggard. And at once, by an involuntary impulse, Pierre glanced ather arms. They carried nothing now. 

All the doors were being closed, slammed one after the other; thecarriages were full, and only the signal for departure was awaited. Panting and smoking, the engine gave vent to a first loud whistle, shrilland joyous; and at that moment the sun, hitherto veiled from sight, dissipated the light cloudlets and made the whole train resplendent, gilding the engine, which seemed on the point of starting for thelegendary Paradise. No bitterness, but a divine, infantile gaietyattended the departure. All the sick appeared to be healed. Though mostof them were being taken away in the same condition as they had beenbrought, they went off relieved and happy, at all events, for an hour. And not the slightest jealousy tainted their brotherly and sisterlyfeelings; those who were not cured waxed quite gay, triumphant at thecure of the others. Their own turns would surely come; yesterday'smiracle was the formal promise of to-morrow's. Even after those threedays of burning entreaty their fever of desire remained within them; thefaith of the forgotten ones continued as keen as ever in the convictionthat the Blessed Virgin had simply deferred a cure for their souls'benefit. Inextinguishable love, invincible hope glowed within all thosewretched ones thirsting for life. And so a last outburst of joy, aturbulent display of happiness, laughter and shouts, overflowed from allthe crowded carriages. "Till next year! We'll come back, we'll comeback again!" was the cry; and then the gay little Sisters of theAssumption clapped their hands, and the hymn of gratitude, the"Magnificat, " began, sung by all the eight hundred pilgrims: "_Magnificatanima mea Dominum_. " "My soul doth magnify the Lord. "

Thereupon the station-master, his mind at last at ease, his arms hangingbeside him, caused the signal to be given. The engine whistled once againand then set out, rolling along in the dazzling sunlight as amidst aglory. Although his leg was causing him great suffering, Father Fourcadehad remained on the platform, leaning upon Doctor Bonamy's shoulder, and, in spite of everything, saluting the departure of his dear children witha smile. Berthaud, Gerard, and Baron Suire formed another group, and nearthem were Doctor Chassaigne and M. Vigneron waving their handkerchiefs. Heads were looking joyously out of the windows of the fleeing carriages, whence other handkerchiefs were streaming in the current of air producedby the motion of the train. Madame Vigneron compelled Gustave to show hispale little face, and for a long time Raymonde's small hand could be seenwaving good wishes; but Marie remained the last, looking back on Lourdesas it grew smaller and smaller amidst the trees. 

Across the bright countryside the train triumphantly disappeared, resplendent, growling, chanting at the full pitch of its eight hundredvoices: "_Et exsultavit spiritus meus in Deo salutari meo_. " "And myspirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour!"

IV. MARIE'S VOW

ONCE more was the white train rolling, rolling towards Paris on its wayhome; and the third-class carriage, where the shrill voices singing the"Magnificat" at full pitch rose above the growling of the wheels, hadagain become a common room, a travelling hospital ward, full of disorder, littered like an improvised ambulance. Basins and brooms and sponges layabout under the seats, which half concealed them. Articles of luggage, all the wretched mass of poor worn-out things, were heaped together, alittle bit everywhere; and up above, the litter began again, what withthe parcels, the baskets, and the bags hanging from the brass pegs andswinging to and fro without a moment's rest. The same Sisters of theAssumption and the same lady-hospitallers were there with their patients, amidst the contingent of healthy pilgrims, who were already sufferingfrom the overpowering heat and unbearable odour. And at the far end therewas again the compartment full of women, the ten close-packed femalepilgrims, some young, some old, and all looking pitifully ugly as theyviolently chanted the canticle in cracked and woeful voices. 

"At what time shall we reach Paris?" M. De Guersaint inquired of Pierre. 

"To-morrow at about two in the afternoon, I think, " the priest replied. 

Since starting, Marie had been looking at the latter with an air ofanxious preoccupation, as though haunted by a sudden sorrow which shecould not reveal. However, she found her gay, healthful smile again tosay: "Twenty-two hours' journey! Ah! it won't be so long and trying as itwas coming. "

"Besides, " resumed her father, "we have left some of our people behind. We have plenty of room now. "

In fact Madame Maze's absence left a corner free at the end of the seatwhich Marie, now sitting up like any other passenger, no longerencumbered with her box. Moreover, little Sophie had this time beenplaced in the next compartment, where there was neither Brother Isidorenor his sister Marthe. The latter, it was said, had remained at Lourdesin service with a pious lady. On the other side, Madame de Jonquiere andSister Hyacinthe also had the benefit of a vacant seat, that of MadameVetu; and it had further occurred to them to get rid of Elise Rouquet byplacing her with Sophie, so that only La Grivotte and the Sabathiercouple were with them in their compartment. Thanks to these newarrangements, they were better able to breathe, and perhaps they mightmanage to sleep a little. 

The last verse of the "Magnificat" having been sung, the ladies finishedinstalling themselves as comfortably as possible by setting their littlehousehold in order. One of the most important matters was to put the zincwater-can, which interfered with their legs, out of the way. All theblinds of the left-hand windows had been pulled down, for the obliquesunrays were falling on the train, and had poured into it in sheets offire. The last storms, however, must have laid the dust, and the nightwould certainly be cool. Moreover, there was less suffering: death hadcarried off the most afflicted ones, and only stupefied ailments, numbedby fatigue and lapsing into a slow torpor, remained. The overpoweringreaction which always follows great moral shocks was about to declareitself. The souls had made the efforts required of them, the miracles hadbeen worked, and now the relaxing was beginning amidst a hebetude tingedwith profound relief. 

Until they got to Tarbes they were all very much occupied in settingthings in order and making themselves comfortable. But as they left thatstation Sister Hyacinthe rose up and clapped her hands. "My children, "said she, "we must not forget the Blessed Virgin who has been so kind tous. Let us begin the Rosary. "

Then the whole carriage repeated the first chaplet--the five joyfulmysteries, the Annunciation, the Visitation, the Nativity, thePurification, and the Finding of Jesus in the Temple. And afterwards theyintoned the canticle, "Let us contemplate the heavenly Archangel, " insuch loud voices that the peasants working in the fields raised theirheads to look at this singing train as it rushed past them at full speed. 

Marie was at the window, gazing with admiration at the vast landscape andthe immense stretch of sky, which had gradually freed itself of its mistand was now of a dazzling blue. It was the delicious close of a fine day. However, she at last looked back into the carriage, and her eyes werefixing themselves on Pierre with that mute sadness which had previouslydimmed them, when all at once a sound of furious sobbing burst forth infront of her. The canticle was finished, and it was Madame Vincent whowas crying, stammering confused words, half-choked by her tears: "Ah, mypoor little one!" she gasped. "Ah, my jewel, my treasure, my life!"

She had previously remained in her corner, shrinking back into it asthough anxious to disappear. With a fierce face, her lips tightly set, and her eyes closed, as though to isolate herself in the depths of hercruel grief, she had hitherto not said a word. But, chancing to open hereyes, she had espied the leathern window-strap hanging down beside thedoor, and the sight of that strap, which her daughter had touched, almostplayed with at one moment during the previous journey, had overwhelmedher with a frantic despair which swept away her resolution to remainsilent. 

"Ah! my poor little Rose, " she continued. "Her little hand touched thatstrap, she turned it, and looked at it--ah, it was her last plaything!And we were there both together then; she was still alive, I still hadher on my lap, in my arms. It was still so nice, so nice! But now I nolonger have her; I shall never, never have her again, my poor littleRose, my poor little Rose!"

Distracted, sobbing bitterly, she looked at her knees and her arms, onwhich nothing now rested, and which she was at a loss how to employ. Shehad so long rocked her daughter on her knees, so long carried her in herarms, that it now seemed to her as if some portion of her being had beenamputated, as if her body had been deprived of one of its functions, leaving her diminished, unoccupied, distracted at being unable to fulfilthat function any more. Those useless arms and knees of hers quiteembarrassed her. 

Pierre and Marie, who were deeply moved, had drawn near, uttering kindwords and striving to console the unhappy mother. And, little by little, from the disconnected sentences which mingled with her sobs, they learnedwhat a Calvary she had ascended since her daughter's death. On themorning of the previous day, when she had carried the body off in herarms amidst the storm, she must have long continued walking, blind anddeaf to everything, whilst the torrential rain beat down upon her. She nolonger remembered what squares she had crossed, what streets she hadtraversed, as she roamed through that infamous Lourdes, that Lourdeswhich killed little children, that Lourdes which she cursed. 

"Ah! I can't remember, I can't remember, " she faltered. "But some peopletook me in, had pity upon me, some people whom I don't know, but who livesomewhere. Ah! I can't remember where, but it was somewhere high up, faraway, at the other end of the town. And they were certainly very poorfolk, for I can still see myself in a poor-looking room with my dearlittle one who was quite cold, and whom they laid upon their bed. "

At this recollection a fresh attack of sobbing shook her, in fact almoststifled her. 

"No, no, " she at last resumed, "I would not part with her dear littlebody by leaving it in that abominable town. And I can't tell exactly howit happened, but it must have been those poor people who took me withthem. We did a great deal of walking, oh! a great deal of walking; we sawall those gentlemen of the pilgrimage and the railway. 'What can itmatter to you?' I repeated to them. 'Let me take her back to Paris in myarms. I brought her here like that when she was alive, I may surely takeher back dead? Nobody will notice anything, people will think that she isasleep. '"

"And all of them, all those officials, began shouting and driving me awayas though I were asking them to let me do something wicked. Then I endedby telling them my mind. When people make so much fuss, and bring so manyagonising sick to a place like that, they surely ought to send the deadones home again, ought they not? And do you know how much money theyended by asking of me at the station? Three hundred francs! Yes, itappears it is the price! Three hundred francs, good Lord! of me, who camehere with thirty sous in my pocket and have only five left. Why, I don'tearn that amount of money by six months' sewing. They ought to have askedme for my life; I would have given it so willingly. Three hundred francs!three hundred francs for that poor little bird-like body, which it wouldhave consoled me so much to have brought away on my knees!"

Then she began stammering and complaining in a confused, husky voice:"Ah, if you only knew how sensibly those poor people talked to me toinduce me to go back. A work-woman like myself, with work waiting, oughtto return to Paris, they said; and, besides, I couldn't afford tosacrifice my return ticket; I must take the three-forty train. And theytold me, too, that people are compelled to put up with things when theyare not rich. Only the rich can keep their dead, do what they like withthem, eh? And I can't remember--no, again I can't remember! I didn't evenknow the time; I should never have been able to find my way back to thestation. After the funeral over there, at a place where there were twotrees, it must have been those poor people who led me away, half out ofmy senses, and brought me to the station, and pushed me into the carriagejust at the moment when the train was starting. But what a rending itwas--as if my heart had remained there underground, and it is frightful, that it is, frightful, my God!"

"Poor woman!" murmured Marie. "Take courage, and pray to the BlessedVirgin for the succour which she never refuses to the afflicted. "

But at this Madame Vincent shook with rage. "It isn't true!" she cried. "The Blessed Virgin doesn't care a rap about me. She doesn't tell thetruth! Why did she deceive me? I should never have gone to Lourdes if Ihadn't heard that voice in a church. My little girl would still be alive, and perhaps the doctors would have saved her. I, who would never set myfoot among the priests formerly! Ah! I was right! I was right! There's noBlessed Virgin at all!"

And in this wise, without resignation, without illusion, without hope, she continued blaspheming with the coarse fury of a woman of the people, shrieking the sufferings of her heart aloud in such rough fashion thatSister Hyacinthe had to intervene: "Be quiet, you unhappy woman! It isGod who is making you suffer, to punish you. "

The scene had already lasted a long time, and as they passed Riscle atfull speed the Sister again clapped her hands and gave the signal for thechanting of the "Laudate Mariam. " "Come, come, my children, " sheexclaimed, "all together, and with all your hearts:

 "In heav'n, on earth, All voices raise, In concert sing My Mother's praise: _Laudate, laudate, laudate Mariam_!"

Madame Vincent, whose voice was drowned by this canticle of love, nowonly sobbed, with her hands pressed to her face. Her revolt was over, shewas again strengthless, weak like a suffering woman whom grief andweariness have stupefied. 

After the canticle, fatigue fell more or less heavily upon all theoccupants of the carriage. Only Sister Hyacinthe, so quick and active, and Sister Claire des Anges, so gentle, serious, and slight, retained, ason their departure from Paris and during their sojourn at Lourdes, theprofessional serenity of women accustomed to everything, amidst thebright gaiety of their white coifs and wimples. Madame de Jonquiere, whohad scarcely slept for five days past, had to make an effort to keep herpoor eyes open; and yet she was delighted with the journey, for her heartwas full of joy at having arranged her daughter's marriage, and atbringing back with her the greatest of all the miracles, a _miraculee_whom everybody was talking of. She decided in her own mind that she wouldget to sleep that night, however bad the jolting might be; though on theother hand she could not shake off a covert fear with regard to LaGrivotte, who looked very strange, excited, and haggard, with dull eyes, and cheeks glowing with patches of violet colour. Madame de Jonquiere hadtried a dozen times to keep her from fidgeting, but had not been able toinduce her to remain still, with joined hands and closed eyes. Fortunately, the other patients gave her no anxiety; most of them wereeither so relieved or so weary that they were already dozing off. EliseRouquet, however, had bought herself a pocket mirror, a large round one, in which she did not weary of contemplating herself, finding herselfquite pretty, and verifying from minute to minute the progress of hercure with a coquetry which, now that her monstrous face was becominghuman again, made her purse her lips and try a variety of smiles. As forSophie Couteau, she was playing very prettily; for finding that nobodynow asked to examine her foot, she had taken off her shoe and stocking ofher own accord, repeating that she must surely have a pebble in one orthe other of them; and as her companions still paid no attention to thatlittle foot which the Blessed Virgin had been pleased to visit, she keptit in her hands, caressing it, seemingly delighted to touch it and turnit into a plaything. 

M. De Guersaint had meantime risen from his seat, and, leaning on the lowpartition between the compartments, he was glancing at M. Sabathier, whenall of a sudden Marie called: "Oh! father, father, look at this notch inthe seat; it was the ironwork of my box that made it!"

The discovery of this trace rendered her so happy that for a moment sheforgot the secret sorrow which she seemed anxious to keep to herself. Andin the same way as Madame Vincent had burst out sobbing on perceiving theleather strap which her little girl had touched, so she burst into joy atthe sight of this scratch, which reminded her of her long martyrdom inthis same carriage, all the abomination which had now disappeared, vanished like a nightmare. "To think that four days have scarcely goneby, " she said; "I was lying there, I could not stir, and now, now I comeand go, and feel so comfortable!"

Pierre and M. De Guersaint were smiling at her; and M. Sabathier, who hadheard her, slowly said: "It is quite true. We leave a little of ourselvesin things, a little of our sufferings and our hopes, and when we findthem again they speak to us, and once more tell us the things whichsadden us or make us gay. "

He had remained in his corner silent, with an air of resignation, eversince their departure from Lourdes. Even his wife whilst wrapping up hislegs had only been able to obtain sundry shakes of the head from him inresponse to her inquiries whether he was suffering. In point of fact hewas not suffering, but extreme dejection was overcoming him. 

"Thus for my own part, " he continued, "during our long journey from ParisI tried to divert my thoughts by counting the bands in the roofing upthere. There were thirteen from the lamp to the door. Well, I have justbeen counting them again, and naturally enough there are still thirteen. It's like that brass knob beside me. You can't imagine what dreams I hadwhilst I watched it shining at night-time when Monsieur l'Abbe wasreading the story of Bernadette to us. Yes, I saw myself cured; I wasmaking that journey to Rome which I have been talking of for twenty yearspast; I walked and travelled the world--briefly, I had all manner of wildand delightful dreams. And now here we are on our way back to Paris, andthere are thirteen bands across the roofing there, and the knob is stillshining--all of which tells me that I am again on the same seat, with mylegs lifeless. Well, well, it's understood, I'm a poor, old, used-upanimal, and such I shall remain. "

Two big tears appeared in his eyes; he must have been passing through anhour of frightful bitterness. However, he raised his big square head, with its jaw typical of patient obstinacy, and added: "This is theseventh year that I have been to Lourdes, and the Blessed Virgin has notlistened to me. No matter! It won't prevent me from going back next year. Perhaps she will at last deign to hear me. "

For his part he did not revolt. And Pierre, whilst chatting with him, wasstupefied to find persistent, tenacious credulity springing up once more, in spite of everything, in the cultivated brain of this man of intellect. What ardent desire of cure and life was it that had led to this refusalto accept evidence, this determination to remain blind? He stubbornlyclung to the resolution to be saved when all human probabilities wereagainst him, when the experiment of the miracle itself had failed so manytimes already; and he had reached such a point that he wished to explainhis fresh rebuff, urging moments of inattention at the Grotto, a lack ofsufficient contrition, and all sorts of little transgressions which musthave displeased the Blessed Virgin. Moreover, he was already deciding inhis mind that he would perform a novena somewhere next year, before againrepairing to Lourdes. 

"Ah! by the way, " he resumed, "do you know of the good-luck which mysubstitute has had? Yes, you must remember my telling you about that poorfellow suffering from tuberculosis, for whom I paid fifty francs when Iobtained _hospitalisation_ for myself. Well, he has been thoroughlycured. "

"Really! And he was suffering from tuberculosis!" exclaimed M. DeGuersaint. 

"Certainly, monsieur, perfectly cured I had seen him looking so low, soyellow, so emaciated, when we started; but when he came to pay me a visitat the hospital he was quite a new man; and, dear me, I gave him fivefrancs. "

Pierre had to restrain a smile, for be had heard the story from DoctorChassaigne. This miraculously healed individual was a feigner, who hadeventually been recognised at the Medical Verification Office. It was, apparently, the third year that he had presented himself there, the firsttime alleging paralysis and the second time a tumour, both of which hadbeen as completely healed as his pretended tuberculosis. On each occasionhe obtained an outing, lodging and food, and returned home loaded withalms. It appeared that he had formerly been a hospital nurse, and that hetransformed himself, "made-up" a face suited to his pretended ailment, insuch an extremely artistic manner that it was only by chance that DoctorBonamy had detected the imposition. Moreover, the Fathers had immediatelyrequired that the incident should be kept secret. What was the use ofstirring up a scandal which would only have led to jocular remarks in thenewspapers? Whenever any fraudulent miracles of this kind werediscovered, the Fathers contented themselves with forcing the guiltyparties to go away. Moreover, these feigners were far from numerous, despite all that was related of them in the amusing stories concocted byVoltairean humourists. Apart from faith, human stupidity and ignorance, alas! were quite sufficient to account for the miracles. 

M. Sabathier, however, was greatly stirred by the idea that Heaven hadhealed this man who had gone to Lourdes at his expense, whereas hehimself was returning home still helpless, still in the same woefulstate. He sighed, and, despite all his resignation, could not helpsaying, with a touch of envy: "What would you, however? The BlessedVirgin must know very well what she's about. Neither you nor I can callher to account to us for her actions. Whenever it may please her to casther eyes on me she will find me at her feet. "

After the "Angelus" when they got to Mont-de-Marsan, Sister Hyacinthemade them repeat the second chaplet, the five sorrowful mysteries, Jesusin the Garden of Olives, Jesus scourged, Jesus crowned with thorns, Jesuscarrying the cross, and Jesus crucified. Then they took dinner in thecarriage, for there would be no stopping until they reached Bordeaux, where they would only arrive at eleven o'clock at night. All thepilgrims' baskets were crammed with provisions, to say nothing of themilk, broth, chocolate, and fruit which Sister Saint-Francois had sentfrom the cantine. Then, too, there was fraternal sharing: they sat withtheir food on their laps and drew close together, every compartmentbecoming, as it were, the scene of a picnic, to which each contributedhis share. And they had finished their meal and were packing up theremaining bread again when the train passed Morceux. 

"My children, " now said Sister Hyacinthe, rising up, "the eveningprayer!"

Thereupon came a confused murmuring made up of "Paters" and "Aves, "self-examinations, acts of contrition and vows of trustful reliance inGod, the Blessed Virgin, and the Saints, with thanksgivings for thathappy day, and, at last, a prayer for the living and for the faithfuldeparted. 

"I warn you, " then resumed the Sister, "that when we get to Lamothe, atten o'clock, I shall order silence. However, I think you will all be verygood and won't require any rocking to get to sleep. "

This made them laugh. It was now half-past eight o'clock, and the nighthad slowly covered the country-side. The hills alone retained a vaguetrace of the twilight's farewell, whilst a dense sheet of darknessblotted out all the low ground. Rushing on at full speed, the trainentered an immense plain, and then there was nothing but a sea ofdarkness, through which they ever and ever rolled under a blackish sky, studded with stars. 

For a moment or so Pierre had been astonished by the demeanour of LaGrivotte. While the other pilgrims and patients were already dozing off, sinking down amidst the luggage, which the constant jolting shook, shehad risen to her feet and was clinging to the partition in a sudden spasmof agony. And under the pale, yellow, dancing gleam of the lamp she oncemore looked emaciated, with a livid, tortured face. 

"Take care, madame, she will fall!" the priest called to Madame deJonquiere, who, with eyelids lowered, was at last giving way to sleep. 

She made all haste to intervene, but Sister Hyacinthe had turned morequickly and caught La Grivotte in her arms. A frightful fit of coughing, however, prostrated the unhappy creature upon the seat, and for fiveminutes she continued stifling, shaken by such an attack that her poorbody seemed to be actually cracking and rending. Then a red thread oozedfrom between her lips, and at last she spat up blood by the throatful. 

"Good heavens! good heavens! it's coming on her again!" repeated Madamede Jonquiere in despair. "I had a fear of it; I was not at ease, seeingher looking so strange. Wait a moment; I will sit down beside her. "

But the Sister would not consent: "No, no, madame, sleep a little. I'llwatch over her. You are not accustomed to it: you would end by makingyourself ill as well. "

Then she settled herself beside La Grivotte, made her rest her headagainst her shoulder, and wiped the blood from her lips. The attacksubsided, but weakness was coming back, so extreme that the wretchedwoman was scarcely able to stammer: "Oh, it is nothing, nothing at all; Iam cured, I am cured, completely cured!"

Pierre was thoroughly upset: This sudden, overwhelming relapse had sentan icy chill through the whole carriage. Many of the passengers raisedthemselves up and looked at La Grivotte with terror in their eyes. Thenthey dived down into their corners again, and nobody spoke, nobodystirred any further. Pierre, for his part, reflected on the curiousmedical aspect of this girl's case. Her strength had come back to herover yonder. She had displayed a ravenous appetite, she had walked longdistances with a dancing gait, her face quite radiant the while; and nowshe had spat blood, her cough had broken out afresh, she again had theheavy ashen face of one in the last agony. Her ailment had returned toher with brutal force, victorious over everything. Was this, then, somespecial case of phthisis complicated by neurosis? Or was it some othermalady, some unknown disease, quietly continuing its work in the midst ofcontradictory diagnosis? The sea of error and ignorance, the darknessamidst which human science is still struggling, again appeared to Pierre. And he once more saw Doctor Chassaigne shrugging his shoulders withdisdain, whilst Doctor Bonamy, full of serenity, quietly continued hisverification work, absolutely convinced that nobody would be able toprove to him the impossibility of his miracles any more than he himselfcould have proved their possibility. 

"Oh! I am not frightened, " La Grivotte continued, stammering. "I amcured, completely cured; they all told me so, over yonder. "

Meantime the carriage was rolling, rolling along, through the blacknight. Each of its occupants was making preparations, stretching himselfout in order to sleep more comfortably. They compelled Madame Vincent tolie down on the seat, and gave her a pillow on which to rest her poorpain-racked head; and then, as docile as a child, quite stupefied, shefell asleep in a nightmare-like torpor, with big, silent tears stillflowing from her closed eyes. Elise Rouquet, who had a whole seat toherself, was also getting ready to lie down, but first of all she madequite an elaborate toilet, tying the black wrap which had served to hideher sore about her head, and then again peering into her glass to see ifthis headgear became her, now that the swelling of her lip had subsided. And again did Pierre feel astonished at sight of that sore, which wascertainly healing, if not already healed--that face, so lately amonster's face, which one could now look at without feeling horrified. The sea of incertitude stretched before him once more. Was it even a reallupus? Might it not rather be some unknown form of ulcer of hystericalorigin? Or ought one to admit that certain forms of lupus, as yet butimperfectly studied and arising from faulty nutrition of the skin, mightbe benefited by a great moral shock? At all events there here seemed tobe a miracle, unless, indeed, the sore should reappear again in threeweeks', three months', or three years' time, like La Grivotte's phthisis. 

It was ten o'clock, and the people in the carriage were falling asleepwhen they left Lamothe. Sister Hyacinthe, upon whose knees La Grivottewas now drowsily resting her head, was unable to rise, and, for form'ssake, merely said, "Silence, silence, my children!" in a low voice, whichdied away amidst the growling rumble of the wheels. 

However, something continued stirring in an adjoining compartment; sheheard a noise which irritated her nerves, and the cause of which she atlast fancied she could understand. 

"Why do you keep on kicking the seat, Sophie?" she asked. "You must getto sleep, my child. "

"I'm not kicking, Sister. It's a key that was rolling about under myfoot. "

"A key!--how is that? Pass it to me. "

Then she examined it. A very old, poor-looking key it was--blackened, worn away, and polished by long use, its ring bearing the mark of whereit had been broken and resoldered. However, they all searched theirpockets, and none of them, it seemed, had lost a key. 

"I found it in the corner, " now resumed Sophie; "it must have belonged tothe man. "

"What man?" asked Sister Hyacinthe. 

"The man who died there. "

They had already forgotten him. But it had surely been his, for SisterHyacinthe recollected that she had heard something fall while she waswiping his forehead. And she turned the key over and continued looking atit, as it lay in her hand, poor, ugly, wretched key that it was, nolonger of any use, never again to open the lock it belonged to--someunknown lock, hidden far away in the depths of the world. For a momentshe was minded to put it in her pocket, as though by a kind of compassionfor this little bit of iron, so humble and so mysterious, since it wasall that remained of that unknown man. But then the pious thought came toher that it is wrong to show attachment to any earthly thing; and, thewindow being half-lowered, she threw out the key, which fell into theblack night. 

"You must not play any more, Sophie, " she resumed. "Come, come, mychildren, silence!"

It was only after the brief stay at Bordeaux, however, at about half-pasteleven o'clock, that sleep came back again and overpowered all in thecarriage. Madame de Jonquiere had been unable to contend against it anylonger, and her head was now resting against the partition, her facewearing an expression of happiness amidst all her fatigue. The Sabathierswere, in a like fashion, calmly sleeping; and not a sound now came fromthe compartment which Sophie Couteau and Elise Rouquet occupied, stretched in front of each other, on the seats. From time to time a lowplaint would rise, a strangled cry of grief or fright, escaping from thelips of Madame Vincent, who, amidst her prostration, was being torturedby evil dreams. Sister Hyacinthe was one of the very few who still hadtheir eyes open, anxious as she was respecting La Grivotte, who now layquite motionless, like a felled animal, breathing painfully, with acontinuous wheezing sound. From one to the other end of this travellingdormitory, shaken by the rumbling of the train rolling on at full speed, the pilgrims and the sick surrendered themselves to sleep, and limbsdangled and heads swayed under the pale, dancing gleams from the lamps. At the far end, in the compartment occupied by the ten female pilgrims, there was a woeful jumbling of poor, ugly faces, old and young, and allopen-mouthed, as though sleep had suddenly fallen upon them at the momentthey were finishing some hymn. Great pity came to the heart at the sightof all those mournful, weary beings, prostrated by five days of wild hopeand infinite ecstasy, and destined to awaken, on the very morrow, to thestern realities of life. 

And now Pierre once more felt himself to be alone with Marie. She had notconsented to stretch herself on the seat--she had been lying down toolong, she said, for seven years, alas! And in order that M. De Guersaint, who on leaving Bordeaux had again fallen into his childlike slumber, might be more at ease, Pierre came and sat down beside the girl. As thelight of the lamp annoyed her he drew the little screen, and they thusfound themselves in the shade, a soft and transparent shade. The trainmust now have been crossing a plain, for it glided through the night asin an endless flight, with a sound like the regular flapping of hugewings. Through the window, which they had opened, a delicious coolnesscame from the black fields, the fathomless fields, where not even anylonely little village lights could be seen gleaming. For a moment Pierrehad turned towards Marie and had noticed that her eyes were closed. Buthe could divine that she was not sleeping, that she was savouring thedeep peacefulness which prevailed around them amidst the thundering roarof their rush through the darkness, and, like her, he closed his eyelidsand began dreaming. 

Yet once again did the past arise before him: the little house atNeuilly, the embrace which they had exchanged near the flowering hedgeunder the trees flecked with sunlight. How far away all that already was, and with what perfume had it not filled his life! Then bitter thoughtsreturned to him at the memory of the day when he had become a priest. Since she would never be a woman, he had consented to be a man no more;and that was to prove their eternal misfortune, for ironical Nature wasto make her a wife and a mother after all. Had he only been able toretain his faith he might have found eternal consolation in it. But allhis attempts to regain it had been in vain. He had gone to Lourdes, hehad striven his utmost at the Grotto, he had hoped for a moment that hewould end by believing should Marie be miraculously healed; but total andirremediable ruin had come when the predicted cure had taken place evenas science had foretold. And their idyl, so pure and so painful, the longstory of their affection bathed in tears, likewise spread out before him. She, having penetrated his sad secret, had come to Lourdes to pray toHeaven for the miracle of his conversion. When they had remained aloneunder the trees amidst the perfume of the invisible roses, during thenight procession, they had prayed one for the other, mingling one in theother, with an ardent desire for their mutual happiness. Before theGrotto, too, she had entreated the Blessed Virgin to forget her and tosave him, if she could obtain but one favour from her Divine Son. Then, healed, beside herself, transported with love and gratitude, whirled withher little car up the inclined ways to the Basilica, she had thought herprayers granted, and had cried aloud the joy she felt that they shouldhave both been saved, together, together! Ah! that lie which he, promptedby affection and charity, had told, that error in which he had from thatmoment suffered her to remain, with what a weight did it oppress hisheart! It was the heavy slab which walled him in his voluntarily chosensepulchre. He remembered the frightful attack of grief which had almostkilled him in the gloom of the crypt, his sobs, his brutal revolt, hislonging to keep her for himself alone, to possess her since he knew herto be his own--all that rising passion of his awakened manhood, whichlittle by little had fallen asleep again, drowned by the rushing river ofhis tears; and in order that he might not destroy the divine illusionwhich possessed her, yielding to brotherly compassion, he had taken thatheroic vow to lie to her, that vow which now filled him with suchanguish. 

Pierre shuddered amidst his reverie. Would he have the strength to keepthat vow forever? Had he not detected a feeling of impatience in hisheart even whilst he was waiting for her at the railway station, ajealous longing to leave that Lourdes which she loved too well, in thevague hope that she might again become his own, somewhere far away? If hehad not been a priest he would have married her. And what rapture, whatfelicity would then have been his! He would have given himself whollyunto her, she would have been wholly his own, and he and she would havelived again in the dear child that would doubtless have been born tothem. Ah! surely that alone was divine, the life which is complete, thelife which creates life! And then his reverie strayed: he picturedhimself married, and the thought filled him with such delight that heasked why such a dream should be unrealisable? She knew no more than achild of ten; he would educate her, form her mind. She would thenunderstand that this cure for which she thought herself indebted to theBlessed Virgin, had in reality come to her from the Only Mother, sereneand impassive Nature. But even whilst he was thus settling things in hismind, a kind of terror, born of his religious education, arose withinhim. Could he tell if that human happiness with which he desired to endowher would ever be worth as much as the holy ignorance, the infantilecandour in which she now lived? How bitterly he would reproach himselfafterwards if she should not be happy. Then, too, what a drama it wouldall be; he to throw off the cassock, and marry this girl healed by analleged miracle--ravage her faith sufficiently to induce her to consentto such sacrilege? Yet therein lay the brave course; there lay reason, life, real manhood, real womanhood. Why, then, did he not dare? Horriblesadness was breaking upon his reverie, he became conscious of nothingbeyond the sufferings of his poor heart. 

The train was still rolling along with its great noise of flapping wings. Beside Pierre and Marie, only Sister Hyacinthe was still awake amidst theweary slumber of the carriage; and just then, Marie leant towards Pierre, and softly said to him: "It's strange, my friend; I am so sleepy, and yetI can't sleep. " Then, with alight laugh, she added: "I've got Paris in myhead!"

"How is that--Paris?"

"Yes, yes. I'm thinking that it's waiting for me, that I am about toreturn to it--that Paris which I know nothing of, and where I shall haveto live!"

These words brought fresh anguish to Pierre's heart. He had well foreseenit; she could no longer belong to him, she would belong to others. IfLourdes had restored her to him, Paris was about to take her from himagain. And he pictured this ignorant little being fatally acquiring allthe education of woman. That little spotless soul which had remained socandid in the frame of a big girl of three-and-twenty, that soul whichillness had kept apart from others, far from life, far even from novels, would soon ripen, now that it could fly freely once more. He beheld her, a gay, healthy young girl, running everywhere, looking and learning, and, some day, meeting the husband who would finish her education. 

"And so, " said he, "you propose to amuse yourself in Paris?"

"Oh! what are you saying, my friend? Are we rich enough to amuseourselves?" she replied. "No, I was thinking of my poor sister Blanche, and wondering what I should be able to do in Paris to help her a little. She is so good, she works so hard; I don't wish that she should have tocontinue earning all the money. "

And, after a fresh pause, as he, deeply moved, remained silent, sheadded: "Formerly, before I suffered so dreadfully, I painted miniaturesrather nicely. You remember, don't you, that I painted a portrait of papawhich was very like him, and which everybody praised. You will help me, won't you? You will find me customers?"

Then she began talking of the new life which she was about to live. Shewanted to arrange her room and hang it with cretonne, something pretty, with a pattern of little blue flowers. She would buy it out of the firstmoney she could save. Blanche had spoken to her of the big shops wherethings could be bought so cheaply. To go out with Blanche and run about alittle would be so amusing for her, who, confined to her bed sincechildhood, had never seen anything. Then Pierre, who for a moment hadbeen calmer, again began to suffer, for he could divine all her glowingdesire to live, her ardour to see everything, know everything, and tasteeverything. It was at last the awakening of the woman whom she wasdestined to be, whom he had divined in childhood's days--a dear creatureof gaiety and passion, with blooming lips, starry eyes, a milkycomplexion, golden hair, all resplendent with the joy of being. 

"Oh! I shall work, I shall work, " she resumed; "but you are right, Pierre, I shall also amuse myself, because it cannot be a sin to be gay, can it?"

"No, surely not, Marie. "

"On Sundays we will go into the country, oh very far away, into the woodswhere there are beautiful trees. And we will sometimes go to the theatre, too, if papa will take us. I have been told that there are many playsthat one may see. But, after all, it's not all that. Provided I can goout and walk in the streets and see things, I shall be so happy; I shallcome home so gay. It is so nice to live, is it not, Pierre?"

"Yes, yes, Marie, it is very nice. "

A chill like that of death was coming over him; his regret that he was nolonger a man was filling him with agony. But since she tempted him likethis with her irritating candour, why should he not confess to her thetruth which was ravaging his being? He would have won her, have conqueredher. Never had a more frightful struggle arisen between his heart and hiswill. For a moment he was on the point of uttering irrevocable words. 

But with the voice of a joyous child she was already resuming: "Oh! lookat poor papa; how pleased he must be to sleep so soundly!"

On the seat in front of them M. De Guersaint was indeed slumbering with acomfortable expression on his face, as though he were in his bed, and hadno consciousness of the continual jolting of the train. This monotonousrolling and heaving seemed, in fact, a lullaby rocking the whole carriageto sleep. All surrendered themselves to it, sinking powerless on to thepiles of bags and parcels, many of which had also fallen; and therhythmical growling of the wheels never ceased in the unknown darknessthrough which the train was still rolling. Now and again, as they passedthrough a station or under a bridge, there would be a loud rush of wind, a tempest would suddenly sweep by; and then the lulling, growling soundwould begin again, ever the same for hours together. 

Marie gently took hold of Pierre's hands; he and she were so lost, socompletely alone among all those prostrated beings, in the deep, rumblingpeacefulness of the train flying across the black night. And sadness, thesadness which she had hitherto hidden, had again come back to her, casting a shadow over her large blue eyes. 

"You will often come with us, my good Pierre, won't you?" she asked. 

He had started on feeling her little hand pressing his own. His heart wason his lips, he was making up his mind to speak. However, he once againrestrained himself and stammered: "I am not always at liberty, Marie; apriest cannot go everywhere. "

"A priest?" she repeated. "Yes, yes, a priest. I understand. "

Then it was she who spoke, who confessed the mortal secret which had beenoppressing her heart ever since they had started. She leant nearer, andin a lower voice resumed: "Listen, my good Pierre; I am fearfully sad. Imay look pleased, but there is death in my soul. You did not tell me thetruth yesterday. "

He became quite scared, but did not at first understand her. "I did nottell you the truth--About what?" he asked. 

A kind of shame restrained her, and she again hesitated at the moment ofdescending into the depths of another conscience than her own. Then, likea friend, a sister, she continued: "No, you let me believe that you hadbeen saved with me, and it was not true, Pierre, you have not found yourlost faith again. "

Good Lord! she knew. For him this was desolation, such a catastrophe thathe forgot his torments. And, at first, he obstinately clung to thefalsehood born of his fraternal charity. "But I assure you, Marie. Howcan you have formed such a wicked idea?"

"Oh! be quiet, my friend, for pity's sake. It would grieve me too deeplyif you were to speak to me falsely again. It was yonder, at the station, at the moment when we were starting, and that unhappy man had died. GoodAbbe Judaine had knelt down to pray for the repose of that rebellioussoul. And I divined everything, I understood everything when I saw thatyou did not kneel as well, that prayer did not rise to your lips as tohis. "

"But, really, I assure you, Marie--"

"No, no, you did not pray for the dead; you no longer believe. Andbesides, there is something else; something I can guess, something whichcomes to me from you, a despair which you can't hide from me, amelancholy look which comes into your poor eyes directly they meet mine. The Blessed Virgin did not grant my prayer, she did not restore yourfaith, and I am very, very wretched. "

She was weeping, a hot tear fell upon the priest's hand, which she wasstill holding. It quite upset him, and he ceased struggling, confessing, in his turn letting his tears flow, whilst, in a very low voice, hestammered: "Ah! Marie, I am very wretched also. Oh! so very wretched. "

For a moment they remained silent, in their cruel grief at feeling thatthe abyss which parts different beliefs was yawning between them. Theywould never belong to one another again, and they were in despair atbeing so utterly unable to bring themselves nearer to one another; butthe severance was henceforth definitive, since Heaven itself had beenunable to reconnect the bond. And thus, side by side, they wept overtheir separation. 

"I who prayed so fervently for your conversion, " she said in a dolorousvoice, "I who was so happy. It had seemed to me that your soul wasmingling with mine; and it was so delightful to have been saved together, together. I felt such strength for life; oh, strength enough to raise theworld!"

He did not answer; his tears were still flowing, flowing without end. 

"And to think, " she resumed, "that I was saved all alone; that this greathappiness fell upon me without you having any share in it. And to see youso forsaken, so desolate, when I am loaded with grace and joy, rends myheart. Ah! how severe the Blessed Virgin has been! Why did she not healyour soul at the same time that she healed my body?"

The last opportunity was presenting itself; he ought to have illuminedthis innocent creature's mind with the light of reason, have explainedthe miracle to her, in order that life, after accomplishing its healthfulwork in her body, might complete its triumph by throwing them into oneanother's arms. He also was healed, his mind was healthy now, and it wasnot for the loss of faith, but for the loss of herself, that he wasweeping. However, invincible compassion was taking possession of himamidst all his grief. No, no, he would not trouble that dear soul; hewould not rob her of her belief, which some day might prove her only stayamidst the sorrows of this world. One cannot yet require of children andwomen the bitter heroism of reason. He had not the strength to do it; heeven thought that he had not the right. It would have seemed to himviolation, abominable murder. And he did not speak out, but his tearsflowed, hotter and hotter, in this immolation of his love, thisdespairing sacrifice of his own happiness in order that she might remaincandid and ignorant and gay at heart. 

"Oh, Marie, how wretched I am! Nowhere on the roads, nowhere at thegalleys even, is there a man more wretched than myself! Oh, Marie, if youonly knew; if you only knew how wretched I am!"

She was distracted, and caught him in her trembling arms, wishing toconsole him with a sisterly embrace. And at that moment the woman awakingwithin her understood everything, and she herself sobbed with sorrow thatboth human and divine will should thus part them. She had never yetreflected on such things, but suddenly she caught a glimpse of life, withits passions, its struggles, and its sufferings; and then, seeking forwhat she might say to soothe in some degree that broken heart, shestammered very faintly, distressed that she could find nothing sweetenough, "I know, I know--"

Then the words it was needful she should speak came to her; and as thoughthat which she had to say ought only to be heard by the angels, shebecame anxious and looked around her. But the slumber which reigned inthe carriage seemed more heavy even than before. Her father was stillsleeping, with the innocent look of a big child. Not one of the pilgrims, not one of the ailing ones, had stirred amidst the rough rocking whichbore them onward. Even Sister Hyacinthe, giving way to her overpoweringweariness, had just closed her eyes, after drawing the lamp-screen in herown compartment. And now there were only vague shadows there, ill-definedbodies amidst nameless things, ghostly forms scarce visible, which atempest blast, a furious rush, was carrying on and on through thedarkness. And she likewise distrusted that black country-side whoseunknown depths went by on either side of the train without one even beingable to tell what forests, what rivers, what hills one was crossing. Ashort time back some bright sparks of light had appeared, possibly thelights of some distant forges, or the woeful lamps of workers orsufferers. Now, however, the night again streamed deeply all around, theobscure, infinite, nameless sea, farther and farther through which theyever went, not knowing where they were. 

Then, with a chaste confusion, blushing amidst her tears, Marie placedher lips near Pierre's ear. "Listen, my friend; there is a great secretbetween the Blessed Virgin and myself. I had sworn that I would nevertell it to anybody. But you are too unhappy, you are suffering toobitterly; she will forgive me; I will confide it to you. "

And in a faint breath she went on: "During that night of love, you know, that night of burning ecstasy which I spent before the Grotto, I engagedmyself by a vow: I promised the Blessed Virgin the gift of my chastity ifshe would but heal me.... She has healed me, and never--you hear me, Pierre, never will I marry anybody. "

Ah! what unhoped-for sweetness! He thought that a balmy dew was fallingon his poor wounded heart. It was a divine enchantment, a deliciousrelief. If she belonged to none other she would always be a little bithis own. And how well she had known his torment and what it was needfulshe should say in order that life might yet be possible for him. 

In his turn he wished to find happy words and promise that he also wouldever be hers, ever love her as he had loved her since childhood, like thedear creature she was, whose one kiss, long, long ago, had sufficed toperfume his entire life. But she made him stop, already anxious, fearingto spoil that pure moment. "No, no, my friend, " she murmured, "let us saynothing more; it would be wrong, perhaps. I am very weary; I shall sleepquietly now. "

And, with her head against his shoulder, she fell asleep at once, like asister who is all confidence. He for a moment kept himself awake in thatpainful happiness of renunciation which they had just tasted together. Itwas all over, quite over now; the sacrifice was consummated. He wouldlive a solitary life, apart from the life of other men. Never would heknow woman, never would any child be born to him. And there remained tohim only the consoling pride of that accepted and desired suicide, withthe desolate grandeur that attaches to lives which are beyond the pale ofnature. 

But fatigue overpowered him also; his eyes closed, and in his turn hefell asleep. And afterwards his head slipped down, and his cheek touchedthe cheek of his dear friend, who was sleeping very gently with her browagainst his shoulder. Then their hair mingled. She had her golden hair, her royal hair, half unbound, and it streamed over his face, and hedreamed amidst its perfume. Doubtless the same blissful dream fell uponthem both, for their loving faces assumed the same expression of rapture;they both seemed to be smiling to the angels. It was chaste andpassionate abandon, the innocence of chance slumber placing them in oneanother's arms, with warm, close lips so that their breath mingled, likethe breath of two babes lying in the same cradle. And such was theirbridal night, the consummation of the spiritual marriage in which theywere to live, a delicious annihilation born of extreme fatigue, withscarcely a fleeting dream of mystical possession, amidst that carriage ofwretchedness and suffering, which still and ever rolled along through thedense night. Hours and hours slipped by, the wheels growled, the bags andbaskets swung from the brass hooks, whilst from the piled-up, crushedbodies there only arose a sense of terrible fatigue, the great physicalexhaustion brought back from the land of miracles when the overworkedsouls returned home. 

At last, at five o'clock, whilst the sun was rising, there was a suddenawakening, a resounding entry into a large station, with porters calling, doors opening, and people scrambling together. They were at Poitiers, andat once the whole carriage was on foot, amidst a chorus of laughter andexclamations. Little Sophie Couteau alighted here, and was biddingeverybody farewell. She embraced all the ladies, even passing over thepartition to take leave of Sister Claire des Anges, whom nobody had seensince the previous evening, for, silent and slight of build, with eyesfull of mystery, she had vanished into her corner. Then the child cameback again, took her little parcel, and showed herself particularlyamiable towards Sister Hyacinthe and Madame de Jonquiere. 

"_Au revoir_, Sister! _Au revoir_, madame! I thank you for all yourkindness. "

"You must come back again next year, my child. "

"Oh, I sha'n't fail, Sister; it's my duty. "

"And be good, my dear child, and take care of your health, so that theBlessed Virgin may be proud of you. "

"To be sure, madame, she was so good to me, and it amuses me so much togo to see her. "

When she was on the platform, all the pilgrims in the carriage leanedout, and with happy faces watched her go off. 

"Till next year!" they called to her; "till next year!"

"Yes, yes, thank you kindly. Till next year. "

The morning prayer was only to be said at Chatelherault. After thestoppage at Poitiers, when the train was once more rolling on in thefresh breeze of morning, M. De Guersaint gaily declared that he had sleptdelightfully, in spite of the hardness of the seat. Madame de Jonquierealso congratulated herself on the good rest which she had had, and ofwhich she had been in so much need; though, at the same time, she wassomewhat annoyed at having left Sister Hyacinthe all alone to watch overLa Grivotte, who was now shivering with intense fever, again attacked byher horrible cough. Meanwhile the other female pilgrims were tidyingthemselves. The ten women at the far end were fastening their _fichus_and tying their cap strings, with a kind of modest nervousness displayedon their mournfully ugly faces. And Elise Rouquet, all attention, withher face close to her pocket glass, did not cease examining her nose, mouth, and cheeks, admiring herself with the thought that she was reallyand truly becoming nice-looking. 

And it was then that Pierre and Marie again experienced a feeling of deepcompassion on glancing at Madame Vincent, whom nothing had been able torouse from a state of torpor, neither the tumultuous stoppage atPoitiers, nor the noise of voices which had continued ever since they hadstarted off again. Prostrate on the seat, she had not opened her eyes, but still and ever slumbered, tortured by atrocious dreams. And, with bigtears still streaming from her closed eyes, she had caught hold of thepillow which had been forced upon her, and was closely pressing it to herbreast in some nightmare born of her suffering. Her poor arms, which hadso long carried her dying daughter, her arms now unoccupied, foreverempty, had found this cushion whilst she slept, and had coiled aroundthem, as around a phantom, with a blind and frantic embrace. 

On the other hand, M. Sabathier had woke up feeling quite joyous. Whilsthis wife was pulling up his rug, carefully wrapping it round his lifelesslegs; he began to chat with sparkling eyes, once more basking inillusion. He had dreamt of Lourdes, said he, and had seen the BlessedVirgin leaning towards him with a smile of kindly promise. And then, although he had before him both Madame Vincent, that mother whosedaughter the Virgin had allowed to die, and La Grivotte, the wretchedwoman whom she had healed and who had so cruelly relapsed into her mortaldisease, he nevertheless rejoiced and made merry, repeating to M. DeGuersaint, with an air of perfect conviction: "Oh! I shall return homequite easy in mind, monsieur--I shall be cured next year. Yes, yes, asthat dear little girl said just now: 'Till next year, till next year!'"

It was indestructible illusion, victorious even over certainty, eternalhope determined not to die, but shooting up with more life than ever, after each defeat, upon the ruins of everything. 

At Chatelherault, Sister Hyacinthe made them say the morning prayer, the"Pater, " the "Ave, " the "Credo, " and an appeal to God begging Him for thehappiness of a glorious day: "O God, grant me sufficient strength that Imay avoid all that is evil, do all that is good, and suffer withoutcomplaint every pain. "

V. THE DEATH OP BERNADETTE--THE NEW RELIGION

AND the journey continued; the train rolled, still rolled along. At Sainte-Maure the prayers of the mass were said, and atSainte-Pierre-des-Corps the "Credo" was chanted. However, the religiousexercises no longer proved so welcome; the pilgrims' zeal was flaggingsomewhat in the increasing fatigue of their return journey, after suchprolonged mental excitement. It occurred to Sister Hyacinthe that thehappiest way of entertaining these poor worn-out folks would be forsomeone to read aloud; and she promised that she would allow Monsieurl'Abbe to read them the finish of Bernadette's life, some of themarvellous episodes of which he had already on two occasions related tothem. However, they must wait until they arrived at Les Aubrais; therewould be nearly two hours between Les Aubrais and Etampes, ample time tofinish the story without being disturbed. 

Then the various religious exercises followed one after the other, in amonotonous repetition of the order which had been observed whilst theycrossed the same plains on their way to Lourdes. They again began theRosary at Amboise, where they said the first chaplet, the five joyfulmysteries; then, after singing the canticle, "O loving Mother, bless, " atBlois, they recited the second chaplet, the five sorrowful mysteries, atBeaugency. Some little fleecy clouds had veiled the sun since morning, and the landscapes, very sweet and somewhat sad, flew by with acontinuous fan-like motion. The trees and houses on either side of theline disappeared in the grey light with the fleetness of vague visions, whilst the distant hills, enveloped in mist, vanished more slowly, withthe gentle rise and fall of a swelling sea. Between Beaugency and LesAubrais the train seemed to slacken speed, though it still kept up itsrhythmical, persistent rumbling, which the deafened pilgrims no longereven heard. 

At length, when Les Aubrais had been left behind, they began to lunch inthe carriage. It was then a quarter to twelve, and when they had said the"Angelus, " and the three "Aves" had been thrice repeated, Pierre tookfrom Marie's bag the little book whose blue cover was ornamented with anartless picture of Our Lady of Lourdes. Sister Hyacinthe clapped herhands as a signal for silence, and amidst general wakefulness and ardentcuriosity like that of big children impassioned by the marvellous story, the priest was able to begin reading in his fine, penetrating voice. Nowcame the narrative of Bernadette's sojourn at Nevers, and then her deaththere. Pierre, however, as on the two previous occasions, soon ceasedfollowing the exact text of the little book, and added charming anecdotesof his own, both what he knew and what he could divine; and, for himselfalone, he again evolved the true story, the human, pitiful story, thatwhich none had ever told, but which he felt so deeply. 

It was on the 8th July, 1866, that Bernadette left Lourdes. She went totake the veil at Nevers, in the convent of Saint-Gildard, the chiefhabitation of the Sisters on duty at the Asylum where she had learnt toread and had been living for eight years. She was then twenty-two yearsof age, and it was eight years since the Blessed Virgin had appeared toher. And her farewells to the Grotto, to the Basilica, to the whole townwhich she loved, were watered with tears. But she could no longer remainthere, owing to the continuous persecution of public curiosity, thevisits, the homage, and the adoration paid to her, from which, on accountof her delicate health, she suffered cruelly. Her sincere humility, hertimid love of shade and silence, had at last produced in her an ardentdesire to disappear, to hide her resounding glory--the glory of one whomheaven had chosen and whom the world would not leave in peace--in thedepth of some unknown darkness; and she longed only forsimple-mindedness, for a quiet humdrum life devoted to prayer and pettydaily occupations. Her departure was therefore a relief both to her andto the Grotto, which she was beginning to embarrass with her excessiveinnocence and burdensome complaints. 

At Nevers, Saint-Gildard ought to have proved a paradise. She there foundfresh air, sunshine, spacious apartments, and an extensive garden plantedwith fine trees. Yet she did not enjoy peace, --that utter forgetfulnessof the world for which one flees to the far-away desert. Scarcely twentydays after her arrival, she donned the garb of the Order and assumed thename of Sister Marie-Bernard, for the time simply engaging herself bypartial vows. However, the world still flocked around her, thepersecution of the multitude began afresh. She was pursued even into thecloister through an irresistible desire to obtain favours from hersaintly person. Ah! to see her, touch her, become lucky by gazing on heror surreptitiously rubbing some medal against her dress. It was thecredulous passion of fetishism, a rush of believers pursuing this poorbeatified being in the desire which each felt to secure a share of hopeand divine illusion. She wept at it with very weariness, with impatientrevolt, and often repeated: "Why do they torment me like this? What moreis there in me than in others?" And at last she felt real grief at thusbecoming "the raree-show, " as she ended by calling herself with a sad, suffering smile. She defended herself as far as she could, refusing tosee anyone. Her companions defended her also, and sometimes very sternly, showing her only to such visitors as were authorised by the Bishop. Thedoors of the Convent remained closed, and ecclesiastics almost alonesucceeded in effecting an entrance. Still, even this was too much for herdesire for solitude, and she often had to be obstinate, to request thatthe priests who had called might be sent away, weary as she was of alwaystelling the same story, of ever answering the same questions. She wasincensed, wounded, on behalf of the Blessed Virgin herself. Still, shesometimes had to yield, for the Bishop in person would bring greatpersonages, dignitaries, and prelates; and she would then appear with hergrave air, answering politely and as briefly as possible; only feeling atease when she was allowed to return to her shadowy corner. Never, indeed, had distinction weighed more heavily on a mortal. One day, when she wasasked if she was not proud of the continual visits paid her by theBishop, she answered simply: "Monseigneur does not come to see me, hecomes to show me. " On another occasion some princes of the Church, greatmilitant Catholics, who wished to see her, were overcome with emotion andsobbed before her; but, in her horror of being shown, in the vexationthey caused her simple mind, she left them without comprehending, merelyfeeling very weary and very sad. 

At length, however, she grew accustomed to Saint-Gildard, and spent apeaceful existence there, engaged in avocations of which she became veryfond. She was so delicate, so frequently ill, that she was employed inthe infirmary. In addition to the little assistance she rendered there, she worked with her needle, with which she became rather skilful, embroidering albs and altar-cloths in a delicate manner. But at timesshe, would lose all strength, and be unable to do even this light work. When she was not confined to her bed she spent long days in aneasy-chair, her only diversion being to recite her rosary or to read somepious work. Now that she had learnt to read, books interested her, especially the beautiful stories of conversion, the delightful legends inwhich saints of both sexes appear, and the splendid and terrible dramasin which the devil is baffled and cast back into hell. But her greatfavourite, the book at which she continually marvelled, was the Bible, that wonderful New Testament of whose perpetual miracle she neverwearied. She remembered the Bible at Bartres, that old book which hadbeen in the family a hundred years, and whose pages had turned yellow;she could again see her foster-father slip a pin between the leaves toopen the book at random, and then read aloud from the top of theright-hand page; and even at that time she had already known thosebeautiful stories so well that she could have continued repeating thenarrative by heart, whatever might be the passage at which the perusalhad ceased. And now that she read the book herself, she found in it aconstant source of surprise, an ever-increasing delight. The story of thePassion particularly upset her, as though it were some extraordinarytragical event that had happened only the day before. She sobbed withpity; it made her poor suffering body quiver for hours. Mingled with hertears, perhaps, there was the unconscious dolour of her own passion, thedesolate Calvary which she also had been ascending ever since herchildhood. 

When Bernadette was well and able to perform her duties in the infirmary, she bustled about, filling the building with childish liveliness. Untilher death she remained an innocent, infantile being, fond of laughing, romping, and play. She was very little, the smallest Sister of thecommunity, so that her companions always treated her somewhat like achild. Her face grew long and hollow, and lost its bloom of youth; butshe retained the pure divine brightness of her eyes, the beautiful eyesof a visionary, in which, as in a limpid sky, you detected the flight ofher dreams. As she grew older and her sufferings increased, she becamesomewhat sour-tempered and violent, cross-grained, anxious, and at timesrough; little imperfections which after each attack filled her withremorse. She would humble herself, think herself damned, and beg pardonof everyone. But, more frequently, what a good little daughter ofProvidence she was! She became lively, alert, quick at repartee, full ofmirth-provoking remarks, with a grace quite her own, which made herbeloved. In spite of her great devotion, although she spent days inprayer, she was not at all bigoted or over-exacting with regard toothers, but tolerant and compassionate. In fact, no nun was ever so mucha woman, with distinct features, a decided personality, charming even inits puerility. And this gift of childishness which she had retained, thesimple innocence of the child she still was, also made children love her, as though they recognised in her one of themselves. They all ran to her, jumped upon her lap, and passed their tiny arms round her neck, and thegarden would then fill with the noise of joyous games, races, and cries;and it was not she who ran or cried the least, so happy was she at oncemore feeling herself a poor unknown little girl as in the far-away daysof Bartres! Later on it was related that a mother had one day brought herparalysed child to the convent for the saint to touch and cure it. Thewoman sobbed so much that the Superior ended by consenting to make theattempt. However, as Bernadette indignantly protested whenever she wasasked to perform a miracle, she was not forewarned, but simply called totake the sick child to the infirmary. And she did so, and when she stoodthe child on the ground it walked. It was cured. 

Ah! how many times must Bartres and her free childhood spent watching herlambs--the years passed among the hills, in the long grass, in the leafywoods--have returned to her during the hours she gave to her dreams whenweary of praying for sinners! No one then fathomed her soul, no one couldsay if involuntary regrets did not rend her wounded heart. One day shespoke some words, which her historians have preserved, with the view ofmaking her passion more touching. Cloistered far away from her mountains, confined to a bed of sickness, she exclaimed: "It seems to me that I wasmade to live, to act, to be ever on the move, and yet the Lord will haveme remain motionless. " What a revelation, full of terrible testimony andimmense sadness! Why should the Lord wish that dear being, all grace andgaiety, to remain motionless? Could she not have honoured Him equallywell by living the free, healthy life that she had been born to live? Andwould she not have done more to increase the world's happiness and herown if, instead of praying for sinners, her constant occupation, she hadgiven her love to the husband who might have been united to her and tothe children who might have been born to her? She, so gay and so active, would, on certain evenings, become extremely depressed. She turned gloomyand remained wrapped in herself, as though overcome by excess of pain. Nodoubt the cup was becoming too bitter. The thought of her life'sperpetual renunciation was killing her. 

Did Bernadette often think of Lourdes whilst she was at Saint-Gildard?What knew she of the triumph of the Grotto, of the prodigies which weredaily transforming the land of miracles? These questions were neverthoroughly elucidated. Her companions were forbidden to talk to her ofsuch matters, which remained enveloped in absolute, continual silence. She herself did not care to speak of them; she kept silent with regard tothe mysterious past, and evinced no desire to know the present, howevertriumphant it might be. But all the same did not her heart, inimagination, fly away to the enchanted country of her childhood, wherelived her kith and kin, where all her life-ties had been formed, whereshe had left the most extraordinary dream that ever human being dreamt?Surely she must have sometimes travelled the beautiful journey of memory, she must have known the main features of the great events that had takenplace at Lourdes. What she most dreaded was to go there herself, and, shealways refused to do so, knowing full well that she could not remainunrecognised, and fearful of meeting the crowds whose adoration awaitedher. What glory would have been hers had she been headstrong, ambitious, domineering! She would have returned to the holy spot of her visions, have worked miracles there, have become a priestess, a female pope, withthe infallibility and sovereignty of one of the elect, a friend of theBlessed Virgin. But the Fathers never really feared this, althoughexpress orders had been given to withdraw her from the world for hersalvation's sake. In reality they were easy, for they knew her, so gentleand so humble in her fear of becoming divine, in her ignorance of thecolossal machine which she had put in motion, and the working of whichwould have made her recoil with affright had she understood it. No, no!that was no longer her land, that place of crowds, of violence andtrafficking. She would have suffered too much there, she would have beenout of her element, bewildered, ashamed. And so, when pilgrims boundthither asked her with a smile, "Will you come with us?" she shiveredslightly, and then hastily replied, "No, no! but how I should like to, were I a little bird!"

Her reverie alone was that little travelling bird, with rapid flight andnoiseless wings, which continually went on pilgrimage to the Grotto. Inher dreams, indeed, she must have continually lived at Lourdes, though inthe flesh she had not even gone there for either her father's or hermother's funeral. Yet she loved her kin; she was anxious to procure workfor her relations who had remained poor, and she had insisted on seeingher eldest brother, who, coming to Nevers to complain, had been refusedadmission to the convent. However, he found her weary and resigned, andshe did not ask him a single question about New Lourdes, as though thatrising town were no longer her own. The year of the crowning of theVirgin, a priest whom she had deputed to pray for her before the Grottocame back and told her of the never-to-be forgotten wonders of theceremony, the hundred thousand pilgrims who had flocked to it, and thefive-and-thirty bishops in golden vestments who had assembled in theresplendent Basilica. Whilst listening, she trembled with her customarylittle quiver of desire and anxiety. And when the priest exclaimed, "Ah!if you had only seen that pomp!" she answered: "Me! I was much betterhere in my little corner in the infirmary. " They had robbed her of herglory; her work shone forth resplendently amidst a continuous hosanna, and she only tasted joy in forgetfulness, in the gloom of the cloister, where the opulent farmers of the Grotto forgot her. It was never there-echoing solemnities that prompted her mysterious journeys; the littlebird of her soul only winged its lonesome flight to Lourdes on days ofsolitude, in the peaceful hours when no one could there disturb itsdevotions. It was before the wild primitive Grotto that she returned tokneel, amongst the bushy eglantine, as in the days when the Gave was notwalled in by a monumental quay. And it was the old town that she visitedat twilight, when the cool, perfumed breezes came down from themountains, the old painted and gilded semi-Spanish church where she hadmade her first communion, the old Asylum so full of suffering whereduring eight years she had grown accustomed to solitude--all that poor, innocent old town, whose every paving-stone awoke old affections in hermemory's depths. 

And did Bernadette ever extend the pilgrimage of her dreams as far asBartres? Probably, at times when she sat in her invalid-chair and letsome pious book slip from her tired hands, and closed her eyes, Bartresdid appear to her, lighting up the darkness of her view. The littleantique Romanesque church with sky-blue nave and blood-red altar screensstood there amidst the tombs of the narrow cemetery. Then she would findherself once more in the house of the Lagues, in the large room on theleft, where the fire was burning, and where, in winter-time, suchwonderful stories were told whilst the big clock gravely ticked the hoursaway. At times the whole countryside spread out before her, meadowswithout end, giant chestnut-trees beneath which you lost yourself, deserted table-lands whence you descried the distant mountains, the Picdu Midi and the Pic de Viscos soaring aloft as airy and as rose-colouredas dreams, in a paradise such as the legends have depicted. Andafterwards, afterwards came her free childhood, when she scampered offwhither she listed in the open air, her lonely, dreamy thirteenth year, when with all the joy of living she wandered through the immensity ofnature. And now, too, perhaps, she again beheld herself roaming in thetall grass among the hawthorn bushes beside the streams on a warm sunnyday in June. Did she not picture herself grown, with a lover of her ownage, whom she would have loved with all the simplicity and affection ofher heart? Ah! to be a child again, to be free, unknown, happy once more, to love afresh, and to love differently! The vision must have passedconfusedly before her--a husband who worshipped her, children gailygrowing up around her, the life that everybody led, the joys and sorrowsthat her own parents had known, and which her children would have had toknow in their turn. But little by little all vanished, and she againfound herself in her chair of suffering, imprisoned between four coldwalls, with no other desire than a longing one for a speedy death, sinceshe had been denied a share of the poor common happiness of this world. 

Bernadette's ailments increased each year. It was, in fact, thecommencement of her passion, the passion of this new child-Messiah, whohad come to bring relief to the unhappy, to announce to mankind thereligion of divine justice and equality in the face of miracles whichflouted the laws of impassible nature. If she now rose it was only todrag herself from chair to chair for a few days at a time, and then shewould have a relapse and be again forced to take to her bed. Hersufferings became terrible. Her hereditary nervousness, her asthma, aggravated by cloister life, had probably turned into phthisis. Shecoughed frightfully, each fit rending her burning chest and leaving herhalf dead. To complete her misery, caries of the right knee-capsupervened, a gnawing disease, the shooting pains of which caused her tocry aloud. Her poor body, to which dressings were continually beingapplied, became one great sore, which was irritated by the warmth of herbed, by her prolonged sojourn between sheets whose friction ended bybreaking her skin. One and all pitied her; those who beheld her martyrdomsaid that it was impossible to suffer more, or with greater fortitude. She tried some of the Lourdes water, but it brought her no relief. Lord, Almighty King, why cure others and not cure her? To save her soul? Thendost Thou not save the souls of the others? What an inexplicableselection! How absurd that in the eternal evolution of worlds it shouldbe necessary for this poor being to be tortured! She sobbed, and againand again said in order to keep up her courage: "Heaven is at the end, but how long the end is in coming!" There was ever the idea thatsuffering is the test, that it is necessary to suffer upon earth if onewould triumph elsewhere, that suffering is indispensable, enviable, andblessed. But is this not blasphemous, O Lord? Hast Thou not created youthand joy? Is it Thy wish that Thy creatures should enjoy neither the sun, nor the smiling Nature which Thou hast created, nor the human affectionswith which Thou hast endowed their flesh? She dreaded the feeling ofrevolt which maddened her at times, and wished also to strengthen herselfagainst the disease which made her groan, and she crucified herself inthought, extending her arms so as to form a cross and unite herself toJesus, her limbs against His limbs, her mouth against His mouth, streaming the while with blood like Him, and steeped like Him inbitterness! Jesus died in three hours, but a longer agony fell to her, who again brought redemption by pain, who died to give others life. Whenher bones ached with agony she would sometimes utter complaints, but shereproached herself immediately. "Oh! how I suffer, oh! how I suffer! butwhat happiness it is to bear this pain!" There can be no more frightfulwords, words pregnant with a blacker pessimism. Happy to suffer, O Lord!but why, and to what unknown and senseless end? Where is the reason inthis useless cruelty, in this revolting glorification of suffering, whenfrom the whole of humanity there ascends but one desperate longing forhealth and happiness?

In the midst of her frightful sufferings, however, Sister Marie-Bernardtook the final vows on September 22, 1878. Twenty years had gone by sincethe Blessed Virgin had appeared to her, visiting her as the Angel hadvisited the Virgin, choosing her as the Virgin had been chosen, amongstthe most lowly and the most candid, that she might hide within her thesecret of King Jesus. Such was the mystical explanation of that electionof suffering, the _raison d'etre_ of that being who was so harshlyseparated from her fellows, weighed down by disease, transformed into thepitiable field of every human affliction. She was the "garden inclosed"*that brings such pleasure to the gaze of the Spouse. He had chosen her, then buried her in the death of her hidden life. And even when theunhappy creature staggered beneath the weight of her cross, hercompanions would say to her: "Do you forget that the Blessed Virginpromised you that you should be happy, not in this world, but in thenext?" And with renewed strength, and striking her forehead, she wouldanswer: "Forget? no, no! it is here!" She only recovered temporary energyby means of this illusion of a paradise of glory, into which she wouldenter escorted by seraphims, to be forever and ever happy. The threepersonal secrets which the Blessed Virgin had confided to her, to arm heragainst evil, must have been promises of beauty, felicity, andimmortality in heaven. What monstrous dupery if there were only thedarkness of the earth beyond the grave, if the Blessed Virgin of herdream were not there to meet her with the prodigious guerdons she hadpromised! But Bernadette had not a doubt; she willingly undertook all thelittle commissions with which her companions naively entrusted her forHeaven: "Sister Marie-Bernard, you'll say this, you'll say that, to theAlmighty. " "Sister Marie-Bernard, you'll kiss my brother if you meet himin Paradise. " "Sister Marie-Bernard, give me a little place beside youwhen I die. " And she obligingly answered each one: "Have no fear, I willdo it!" Ah! all-powerful illusion, delicious repose, power ever revivingand consolatory!

 * Song of Solomon iv. 12. 

And then came the last agony, then came death. 

On Friday, March 28, 1879, it was thought that she would not last thenight. She had a despairing longing for the tomb, in order that she mightsuffer no more, and live again in heaven. And thus she obstinatelyrefused to receive extreme unction, saying that twice already it hadcured her. She wished, in short, that God would let her die, for it wasmore than she could bear; it would have been unreasonable to require thatshe should suffer longer. Yet she ended by consenting to receive thesacraments, and her last agony was thereby prolonged for nearly threeweeks. The priest who attended her frequently said: "My daughter, youmust make the sacrifice of your life"; and one day, quite out ofpatience, she sharply answered him: "But, Father, it is no sacrifice. " Aterrible saying, that also, for it implied disgust at _being_, furiouscontempt for existence, and an immediate ending of her humanity, had shehad the power to suppress herself by a gesture. It is true that the poorgirl had nothing to regret, that she had been compelled to banisheverything from her life, health, joy, and love, so that she might leaveit as one casts off a soiled, worn, tattered garment. And she was right;she condemned her useless, cruel life when she said: "My passion willfinish only at my death; it will not cease until I enter into eternity. "And this idea of her passion pursued her, attaching her more closely tothe cross with her Divine Master. She had induced them to give her alarge crucifix; she pressed it vehemently against her poor maidenlybreast, exclaiming that she would like to thrust it into her bosom andleave it there. Towards the end, her strength completely forsook her, andshe could no longer grasp the crucifix with her trembling hands. "Let itbe tightly tied to me, " she prayed, "that I may feel it until my lastbreath!" The Redeemer upon that crucifix was the only spouse that she wasdestined to know; His bleeding kiss was to be the only one bestowed uponher womanhood, diverted from nature's course. The nuns took cords, passedthem under her aching back, and fastened the crucifix so roughly to herbosom that it did indeed penetrate it. 

At last death took pity upon her. On Easter Monday she was seized with agreat fit of shivering. Hallucinations perturbed her, she trembled withfright, she beheld the devil jeering and prowling around her. "Be off, beoff, Satan!" she gasped; "do not touch me, do not carry me away!" Andamidst her delirium she related that the fiend had sought to throwhimself upon her, that she had felt his mouth scorching her with all theflames of hell. The devil in a life so pure, in a soul without sin! whatfor, O Lord! and again I ask it, why this relentless suffering, intenseto the very last, why this nightmare-like ending, this death troubledwith such frightful fancies, after so beautiful a life of candour, purity, and innocence? Could she not fall asleep serenely in thepeacefulness of her chaste soul? But doubtless so long as breath remainedin her body it was necessary to leave her the hatred and dread of life, which is the devil. It was life which menaced her, and it was life whichshe cast out, in the same way that she denied life when she reserved tothe Celestial Bridegroom her tortured, crucified womanhood. That dogma ofthe Immaculate Conception, which her dream had come to strengthen, was ablow dealt by the Church to woman, both wife and mother. To decree thatwoman is only worthy of worship on condition that she be a virgin, toimagine that virgin to be herself born without sin, is not this an insultto Nature, the condemnation of life, the denial of womanhood, whose truegreatness consists in perpetuating life? "Be off, be off, Satan! let medie without fulfilling Nature's law. " And she drove the sunshine from theroom and the free air that entered by the window, the air that was sweetwith the scent of flowers, laden with all the floating germs whichtransmit love throughout the whole vast world. 

On the Wednesday after Easter (April 16th), the death agony commenced. Itis related that on the morning of that day one of Bernadette'scompanions, a nun attacked with a mortal illness and lying in theinfirmary in an adjoining bed, was suddenly healed upon drinking a glassof Lourdes water. But she, the privileged one, had drunk of it in vain. God at last granted her the signal favour which she desired by sendingher into the good sound sleep of the earth, in which there is no moresuffering. She asked pardon of everyone. Her passion was consummated;like the Saviour, she had the nails and the crown of thorns, the scourgedlimbs, the pierced side. Like Him she raised her eyes to heaven, extendedher arms in the form of a cross, and uttered a loud cry: "My God!" And, like Him, she said, towards three o'clock: "I thirst. " She moistened herlips in the glass, then bowed her head and expired. 

Thus, very glorious and very holy, died the Visionary of Lourdes, Bernadette Soubirous, Sister Marie-Bernard, one of the Sisters of Charityof Nevers. During three days her body remained exposed to view, and vastcrowds passed before it; a whole people hastened to the convent, aninterminable procession of devotees hungering after hope, who rubbedmedals, chaplets, pictures, and missals against the dead woman's dress, to obtain from her one more favour, a fetish bringing happiness. Even indeath her dream of solitude was denied her: a mob of the wretched ones ofthis world rushed to the spot, drinking in illusion around her coffin. And it was noticed that her left eye, the eye which at the time of theapparitions had been nearest to the Blessed Virgin, remained obstinatelyopen. Then a last miracle amazed the convent: the body underwent nochange, but was interred on the third day, still supple, warm, with redlips, and a very white skin, rejuvenated as it were, and smelling sweet. And to-day Bernadette Soubirous, exiled from Lourdes, obscurely sleepsher last sleep at Saint Gildard, beneath a stone slab in a little chapel, amidst the shade and silence of the old trees of the garden, whilstyonder the Grotto shines resplendently in all its triumph. 

Pierre ceased speaking; the beautiful, marvellous story was ended. Andyet the whole carriage was still listening, deeply impressed by thatdeath, at once so tragic and so touching. Compassionate tears fell fromMarie's eyes, while the others, Elise Rouquet, La Grivotte herself, nowcalmer, clasped their hands and prayed to her who was in heaven tointercede with the Divinity to complete their cure. M. Sabathier made abig sign of the cross, and then ate a cake which his wife had bought himat Poitiers. 

M. De Guersaint, whom sad things always upset, had fallen asleep again inthe middle of the story. And there was only Madame Vincent, with her faceburied in her pillow, who had not stirred, like a deaf and blindcreature, determined to see and hear nothing more. 

Meanwhile the train rolled, still rolled along. Madame de Jonquiere, after putting her head out of the window, informed them that they wereapproaching Etampes. And, when they had left that station behind them, Sister Hyacinthe gave the signal, and they recited the third chaplet ofthe Rosary, the five glorious mysteries--the Resurrection of Our Lord, the Ascension of Our Lord, the Mission of the Holy Ghost, the Assumptionof the Most Blessed Virgin, and the Crowning of the Most Blessed Virgin. And afterwards they sang the canticle:

 "O Virgin, in thy help I put my trust. "

Then Pierre fell into a deep reverie. His glance had turned towards thenow sunlit landscape, the continual flight of which seemed to lull histhoughts. The noise of the wheels was making him dizzy, and he ended byno longer recognising the familiar horizon of this vast suburban expansewith which he had once been acquainted. They still had to pass Bretignyand Juvisy, and then, in an hour and a half at the utmost, they would atlast be at Paris. So the great journey was finished! the inquiry, whichhe had so much desired to make, the experiment which he had attemptedwith so much passion, were over! He had wished to acquire certainty, tostudy Bernadette's case on the spot, and see if grace would not come backto him in a lightning flash, restoring him his faith. And now he hadsettled the point--Bernadette had dreamed through the continual tormentsof her flesh, and he himself would never believe again. And this forceditself upon his mind like a brutal fact: the simple faith of the childwho kneels and prays, the primitive faith of young people, bowed down byan awe born of their ignorance, was dead. Though thousands of pilgrimsmight each year go to Lourdes, the nations were no longer with them; thisattempt to bring about the resurrection of absolute faith, the faith ofdead-and-gone centuries, without revolt or examination, was fatallydoomed to fail. History never retraces its steps, humanity cannot returnto childhood, times have too much changed, too many new inspirations havesown new harvests for the men of to-day to become once more like the menof olden time. It was decisive; Lourdes was only an explainable accident, whose reactionary violence was even a proof of the extreme agony in whichbelief under the antique form of Catholicism was struggling. Never again, as in the cathedrals of the twelfth century, would the entire nationkneel like a docile flock in the hands of the Master. To blindly, obstinately cling to the attempt to bring that to pass would mean to dashoneself against the impossible, to rush, perhaps, towards great moralcatastrophes. 

And of his journey there already only remained to Pierre an immensefeeling of compassion. Ah! his heart was overflowing with pity; his poorheart was returning wrung by all that he had seen. He recalled the wordsof worthy Abbe Judaine; and he had seen those thousands of unhappy beingspraying, weeping, and imploring God to take pity on their suffering; andhe had wept with them, and felt within himself, like an open wound, asorrowful fraternal feeling for all their ailments. He could not think ofthose poor people without burning with a desire to relieve them. If itwere true that the faith of the simple-minded no longer sufficed; if oneran the risk of going astray in wishing to turn back, would it becomenecessary to close the Grotto, to preach other efforts, other sufferings?However, his compassion revolted at that thought. No, no! it would be acrime to snatch their dream of Heaven from those poor creatures whosuffered either in body or in mind, and who only found relief in kneelingyonder amidst the splendour of tapers and the soothing repetition ofhymns. He had not taken the murderous course of undeceiving Marie, buthad sacrificed himself in order to leave her the joy of her fancy, thedivine consolation of having been healed by the Virgin. Where was the manhard enough, cruel enough, to prevent the lowly from believing, to robthem of the consolation of the supernatural, the hope that God troubledHimself about them, that He held a better life in His paradise in reservefor them? All humanity was weeping, desperate with anguish, like somedespairing invalid, irrevocably condemned, and whom only a miracle couldsave. He felt mankind to be unhappy indeed, and he shuddered withfraternal affection in the presence of such pitiable humility, ignorance, poverty in its rags, disease with its sores and evil odour, all the lowlysufferers, in hospital, convent, and slums, amidst vermin and dirt, withugliness and imbecility written on their faces, an immense protestagainst health, life, and Nature, in the triumphal name of justice, equality, and benevolence. No, no! it would never do to drive thewretched to despair. Lourdes must be tolerated, in the same way that youtolerate a falsehood which makes life possible. And, as he had alreadysaid in Bernadette's chamber, she remained the martyr, she it was whorevealed to him the only religion which still filled his heart, thereligion of human suffering. Ah! to be good and kindly, to alleviate allills, to lull pain, to sleep in a dream, to lie even, so that no onemight suffer any more!

The train passed at full speed through a village, and Pierre vaguelycaught sight of a church nestling amidst some large apple trees. All thepilgrims in the carriage crossed themselves. But he was now becominguneasy, scruples were tingeing his reverie with anxiety. This religion ofhuman suffering, this redemption by pain, was not this yet another lure, a continual aggravation of pain and misery? It is cowardly and dangerousto allow superstition to live. To tolerate and accept it is to revive thedark evil ages afresh. It weakens and stupefies; the sanctimoniousnessbequeathed by heredity produces humiliated, timorous generations, decadent and docile nations, who are an easy prey to the powerful of theearth. Whole nations are imposed upon, robbed, devoured, when they havedevoted the whole effort of their will to the mere conquest of a futureexistence. Would it not, therefore, be better to cure humanity at once byboldly closing the miraculous Grottos whither it goes to weep, and thusrestore to it the courage to live the real life, even in the midst oftears? And it was the same prayer, that incessant flood of prayer whichascended from Lourdes, the endless supplication in which he had beenimmersed and softened: was it not after all but puerile lullaby, adebasement of all one's energies? It benumbed the will, one's very beingbecame dissolved in it and acquired disgust for life and action. Of whatuse could it be to will anything, do anything, when you totally resignedyourself to the caprices of an unknown almighty power? And, in anotherrespect, what a strange thing was this mad desire for prodigies, thisanxiety to drive the Divinity to transgress the laws of Natureestablished by Himself in His infinite wisdom! Therein evidently layperil and unreasonableness; at the risk even of losing illusion, thatdivine comforter, only the habit of personal effort and the courage oftruth should have been developed in man, and especially in the child. 

Then a great brightness arose in Pierre's mind and dazzled him. It wasReason, protesting against the glorification of the absurd and thedeposition of common-sense. Ah! reason, it was through her that he hadsuffered, through her alone that he was happy. As he had told DoctorChassaigne, his one consuming longing was to satisfy reason ever more andmore, although it might cost him happiness to do so. It was reason, henow well understood it, whose continual revolt at the Grotto, at theBasilica, throughout entire Lourdes, had prevented him from believing. Unlike his old friend--that stricken old man, who was afflicted with suchdolorous senility, who had fallen into second childhood since theshipwreck of his affections, --he had been unable to kill reason andhumiliate and annihilate himself. Reason remained his sovereign mistress, and she it was who buoyed him up even amidst the obscurities and failuresof science. Whenever he met with a thing which he could not understand, it was she who whispered to him, "There is certainly a naturalexplanation which escapes me. " He repeated that there could be no healthyideal outside the march towards the discovery of the unknown, the slowvictory of reason amidst all the wretchedness of body and mind. In theclashing of the twofold heredity which he had derived from his father, all brain, and his mother, all faith, he, a priest, found it possible toravage his life in order that he might keep his vows. He had acquiredstrength enough to master his flesh, but he felt that his paternalheredity had now definitely gained the upper hand, for henceforth thesacrifice of his reason had become an impossibility; this he would notrenounce and would not master. No, no, even human suffering, the hallowedsuffering of the poor, ought not to prove an obstacle, enjoining thenecessity of ignorance and folly. Reason before all; in her alone laysalvation. If at Lourdes, whilst bathed in tears, softened by the sightof so much affliction, he had said that it was sufficient to weep andlove, he had made a dangerous mistake. Pity was but a convenientexpedient. One must live, one must act; reason must combat suffering, unless it be desired that the latter should last forever. 

However, as the train rolled on and the landscape flew by, a church oncemore appeared, this time on the fringe of heaven, some votive chapelperched upon a hill and surmounted by a lofty statue of the Virgin. Andonce more all the pilgrims made the sign of the cross, and once morePierre's reverie strayed, a fresh stream of reflections bringing hisanguish back to him. What was this imperious need of the things beyond, which tortured suffering humanity? Whence came it? Why should equalityand justice be desired when they did not seem to exist in impassivenature? Man had set them in the unknown spheres of the Mysterious, in thesupernatural realms of religious paradises, and there contented hisardent thirst for them. That unquenchable thirst for happiness had everconsumed, and would consume him always. If the Fathers of the Grottodrove such a glorious trade, it was simply because they made motley outof what was divine. That thirst for the Divine, which nothing hadquenched through the long, long ages, seemed to have returned withincreased violence at the close of our century of science. Lourdes was aresounding and undeniable proof that man could never live without thedream of a Sovereign Divinity, re-establishing equality and re-creatinghappiness by dint of miracles. When man has reached the depths of life'smisfortunes, he returns to the divine illusion, and the origin of allreligions lies there. Man, weak and bare, lacks the strength to livethrough his terrestrial misery without the everlasting lie of a paradise. To-day, thought Pierre, the experiment had been made; it seemed thatscience alone could not suffice, and that one would be obliged to leave adoor open on the Mysterious. 

All at once in the depths of his deeply absorbed mind the words rang out, A new religion! The door which must be left open on the Mysterious wasindeed a new religion. To subject mankind to brutal amputation, lop offits dream, and forcibly deprive it of the Marvellous, which it needed tolive as much as it needed bread, would possibly kill it. Would it everhave the philosophical courage to take life as it is, and live it for itsown sake, without any idea of future rewards and penalties? It certainlyseemed that centuries must elapse before the advent of a society wiseenough to lead a life of rectitude without the moral control of somecultus and the consolation of superhuman equality and justice. Yes, a newreligion! The call burst forth, resounded within Pierre's brain like thecall of the nations, the eager, despairing desire of the modern soul. Theconsolation and hope which Catholicism had brought the world seemedexhausted after eighteen hundred years full of so many tears, so muchblood, so much vain and barbarous agitation. It was an illusiondeparting, and it was at least necessary that the illusion should bechanged. If mankind had long ago darted for refuge into the Christianparadise, it was because that paradise then opened before it like a freshhope. But now a new religion, a new hope, a new paradise, yes, that waswhat the world thirsted for, in the discomfort in which it wasstruggling. And Father Fourcade, for his part, fully felt such to be thecase; he had not meant to imply anything else when he had given rein tohis anxiety, entreating that the people of the great towns, the densemass of the humble which forms the nation, might be brought to Lourdes. One hundred thousand, two hundred thousand pilgrims at Lourdes each year, that was, after all, but a grain of sand. It was the people, the wholepeople, that was required. But the people has forever deserted thechurches, it no longer puts any soul in the Blessed Virgins which itmanufactures, and nothing nowadays could restore its lost faith. ACatholic democracy--yes, history would then begin afresh; only were itpossible to create a new Christian people, would not the advent of a newSaviour, the mighty breath of a new Messiah, have been needed for such atask?

However, the words still sounded, still rang out in Pierre's mind withthe growing clamour of pealing bells. A new religion; a new religion. Doubtless it must be a religion nearer to life, giving a larger place tothe things of the world, and taking the acquired truths into due account. And, above all, it must be a religion which was not an appetite fordeath--Bernadette living solely in order that she might die, DoctorChassaigne aspiring to the tomb as to the only happiness--for all thatspiritualistic abandonment was so much continuous disorganisation of thewill to live. At bottom of it was hatred to life, disgust with andcessation of action. Every religion, it is true, is but a promise ofimmortality, an embellishment of the spheres beyond, an enchanted gardento be entered on the morrow of death. Could a new religion ever placesuch a garden of eternal happiness on earth? Where was the formula, thedogma, that would satisfy the hopes of the mankind of to-day? What beliefshould be sown to blossom forth in a harvest of strength and peace? Howcould one fecundate the universal doubt so that it should give birth to anew faith? and what sort of illusion, what divine falsehood of any kindcould be made to germinate in the contemporary world, ravaged as it hadbeen upon all sides, broken up by a century of science?

At that moment, without any apparent transition, Pierre saw the face ofhis brother Guillaume arise in the troublous depths of his mind. Still, he was not surprised; some secret link must have brought that visionthere. Ah! how fond they had been of one another long ago, and what agood brother that elder brother, so upright and gentle, had been!Henceforth, also, the rupture was complete; Pierre no longer sawGuillaume, since the latter had cloistered himself in his chemicalstudies, living like a savage in a little suburban house, with a mistressand two big dogs. Then Pierre's reverie again diverged, and he thought ofthat trial in which Guillaume had been mentioned, like one suspected ofhaving compromising friendships amongst the most violent revolutionaries. It was related, too, that the young man had, after long researches, discovered the formula of a terrible explosive, one pound of which wouldsuffice to blow up a cathedral. And Pierre then thought of thoseAnarchists who wished to renew and save the world by destroying it. Theywere but dreamers, horrible dreamers; yet dreamers in the same way asthose innocent pilgrims whom he had seen kneeling at the Grotto in anenraptured flock. If the Anarchists, if the extreme Socialists, demandedwith violence the equality of wealth, the sharing of all the enjoymentsof the world, the pilgrims on their side demanded with tears equality ofhealth and an equitable sharing of moral and physical peace. The latterrelied on miracles, the former appealed to brute force. At bottom, however, it was but the same exasperated dream of fraternity and justice, the eternal desire for happiness--neither poor nor sick left, but blissfor one and all. And, in fact, had not the primitive Christians beenterrible revolutionaries for the pagan world, which they threatened, anddid, indeed, destroy? They who were persecuted, whom the others sought toexterminate, are to-day inoffensive, because they have become the Past. The frightful Future is ever the man who dreams of a future society; evenas to-day it is the madman so wildly bent on social renovation that heharbours the great black dream of purifying everything by the flame ofconflagrations. This seemed monstrous to Pierre. Yet, who could tell?Therein, perchance, lay the rejuvenated world of to-morrow. 

Astray, full of doubts, he nevertheless, in his horror of violence, madecommon cause with old society now reduced to defend itself, unable thoughhe was to say whence would come the new Messiah of Gentleness, in whosehands he would have liked to place poor ailing mankind. A new religion, yes, a new religion. But it is not easy to invent one, and he knew not towhat conclusion to come between the ancient faith, which was dead, andthe young faith of to-morrow, as yet unborn. For his part, in hisdesolation, he was only sure of keeping his vow, like an unbelievingpriest watching over the belief of others, chastely and honestlydischarging his duties, with the proud sadness that he had been unable torenounce his reason as he had renounced his flesh. And for the rest, hewould wait. 

However, the train rolled on between large parks, and the engine gave aprolonged whistle, a joyful flourish, which drew Pierre from hisreflections. The others were stirring, displaying emotion around him. Thetrain had just left Juvisy, and Paris was at last near at hand, within ashort half-hour's journey. One and all were getting their thingstogether: the Sabathiers were remaking their little parcels, EliseRouquet was giving a last glance at her mirror. For a moment Madame deJonquiere again became anxious concerning La Grivotte, and decided thatas the girl was in such a pitiful condition she would have her takenstraight to a hospital on arriving; whilst Marie endeavoured to rouseMadame Vincent from the torpor in which she seemed determined to remain. M. De Guersaint, who had been indulging in a little siesta, also had tobe awakened. And at last, when Sister Hyacinthe had clapped her hands, the whole carriage intonated the "Te Deum, " the hymn of praise andthanksgiving. "_Te Deum, laudamus, te Dominum confitemur_. " The voicesrose amidst a last burst of fervour. All those glowing souls returnedthanks to God for the beautiful journey, the marvellous favours that Hehad already bestowed on them, and would bestow on them yet again. 

At last came the fortifications. The two o'clock sun was slowlydescending the vast, pure heavens, so serenely warm. Distant smoke, aruddy smoke, was rising in light clouds above the immensity of Paris likethe scattered, flying breath of that toiling colossus. It was Paris inher forge, Paris with her passions, her battles, her ever-growlingthunder, her ardent life ever engendering the life of to-morrow. And thewhite train, the woeful train of every misery and every dolour, wasreturning into it all at full speed, sounding in higher and higherstrains the piercing flourishes of its whistle-calls. The five hundredpilgrims, the three hundred patients, were about to disappear in the vastcity, fall again upon the hard pavement of life after the prodigiousdream in which they had just indulged, until the day should come whentheir need of the consolation of a fresh dream would irresistibly impelthem to start once more on the everlasting pilgrimage to mystery andforgetfulness. 

Ah! unhappy mankind, poor ailing humanity, hungering for illusion, and inthe weariness of this waning century distracted and sore from having toogreedily acquired science; it fancies itself abandoned by the physiciansof both the mind and the body, and, in great danger of succumbing toincurable disease, retraces its steps and asks the miracle of its cure ofthe mystical Lourdes of a past forever dead! Yonder, however, Bernadette, the new Messiah of suffering, so touching in her human reality, constitutes the terrible lesson, the sacrifice cut off from the world, the victim condemned to abandonment, solitude, and death, smitten withthe penalty of being neither woman, nor wife, nor mother, because shebeheld the Blessed Virgin. 

THE END