THE THREE CITIES

 LOURDES

 BY

 EMILE ZOLA

 Volume 5. 

 TRANSLATED BY ERNEST A. VIZETELLY

 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. AtSainte-Maure the prayers of the mass were said, and at Sainte-Pierre-des-Corps the "Credo" was chanted. However, the religious exercises no longerproved so welcome; the pilgrims' zeal was flagging somewhat in theincreasing fatigue of their return journey, after such prolonged mentalexcitement. It occurred to Sister Hyacinthe that the happiest way ofentertaining these poor worn-out folks would be for someone to read aloud;and she promised that she would allow Monsieur l'Abbe to read them thefinish of Bernadette's life, some of the marvellous episodes of which hehad already on two occasions related to them. However, they must waituntil they arrived at Les Aubrais; there would be nearly two hours betweenLes Aubrais and Etampes, ample time to finish the story without beingdisturbed. 

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