第 20 页

in view, on the other, none of them completely satisfied him.

"Eh, cousin? You will advise me, won't you?" he said to Berthaud. "You

are a man of experience. There is Mademoiselle Lemercier who comes here

with her aunt. She is very rich; according to what is said she has over a

million francs. But she doesn't belong to our set, and besides I think

her a bit of a madcap."

Berthaud nodded. "I told you so; if I were you I should choose little

Raymonde, Mademoiselle de Jonquiere."

"But she hasn't a copper!"

"That's true--she has barely enough to pay for her board. But she is

fairly good-looking, she has been well brought up, and she has no

extravagant tastes. That is the really important point, for what is the

use of marrying a rich girl if she squanders the dowry she brings you?

Besides, I know Madame and Mademoiselle de Jonquiere very well, I meet

them all through the winter in the most influential drawing-rooms of

Paris. And, finally, don't forget the girl's uncle, the diplomatist, who

has had the painful courage to remain in the service of the Republic. He

will be able to do whatever he pleases for his niece's husband."

For a moment Gerard seemed shaken, and then he relapsed into perplexity.

"But she hasn't a copper," he said, "no, not a copper. It's too stiff. I

am quite willing to think it over, but it really frightens me too much."

This time Berthaud burst into a frank laugh. "Come, you are ambitious, so

you must be daring. I tell you that it means the secretaryship of an

embassy before two years are over. By the way, Madame and Mademoiselle de

Jonquiere are in the white train which we are waiting for. Make up your

mind and pay your court at once."

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

At this moment they were interrupted, for Baron Suire, who had already

once gone by without perceiving them, so completely did the darkness

enshroud them in that retired corner, had just recognised the ex-public

prosecutor's good-natured laugh. And, thereupon, with the volubility of a

man whose head is easily unhinged, he gave him several orders respecting

the vehicles and the transport service, deploring the circumstance that

it would be impossible to conduct the patients to the Grotto immediately

on their arrival, as it was yet so extremely early. It had therefore been

decided that they should in the first instance be taken to the Hospital

of Our Lady of Dolours, where they would be able to rest awhile after

their trying journey.

Whilst the Baron and the superintendent were thus settling what measures

should be adopted, Gerard shook hands with a priest who had sat down

beside him. This was the Abbe des Hermoises, who was barely

eight-and-thirty years of age and had a superb head--such a head as one

might expect to find on the shoulders of a worldly priest. With his hair

well combed, and his person perfumed, he was not unnaturally a great

favourite among women. Very amiable and distinguished in his manners, he

did not come to Lourdes in any official capacity, but simply for his

pleasure, as so many other people did; and the bright, sparkling smile of

a sceptic above all idolatry gleamed in the depths of his fine eyes. He

certainly believed, and bowed to superior decisions; but the Church--the

Holy See--had not pronounced itself with regard to the miracles; and he

seemed quite ready to dispute their authenticity. Having lived at Tarbes

he was already acquainted with Gerard.

"Ah!" he said to him, "how impressive it is--isn't it?--this waiting for

the trains in the middle of the night! I have come to meet a lady--one of

my former Paris penitents--but I don't know what train she will come by.

Still, as you see, I stop on, for it all interests me so much."

Then another priest, an old country priest, having come to sit down on

the same bench, the Abbe considerately began talking to him, speaking of

the beauty of the Lourdes district and of the theatrical effect which

would take place by-and-by when the sun rose and the mountains appeared.

However, there was again a sudden alert, and the station-master ran along

shouting orders. Removing his hand from Dr. Bonamy's shoulder, Father

Fourcade, despite his gouty leg, hastily drew near.

"Oh! it's that Bayonne express which is so late," answered the

station-master in reply to the questions addressed to him. "I should like

some information about it; I'm not at ease."

At this moment the telegraph bells rang out and a porter rushed away into

the darkness swinging a lantern, whilst a distant signal began to work.

Thereupon the station-master resumed: "Ah! this time it's the white

train. Let us hope we shall have time to get the sick people out before

the express passes."

He started off once more and disappeared. Berthaud meanwhile called to

Gerard, who was at the head of a squad of bearers, and they both made

haste to join their men, into whom Baron Suire was already instilling

activity. The bearers flocked to the spot from all sides, and setting

themselves in motion began dragging their little vehicles across the

lines to the platform at which the white train would come in--an unroofed

platform plunged in darkness. A mass of pillows, mattresses, stretchers,

and litters was soon waiting there, whilst Father Fourcade, Dr. Bonamy,

the priests, the gentlemen, and the officer of dragoons in their turn

crossed over in order to witness the removal of the ailing pilgrims. All

that they could as yet see, far away in the depths of the black country,

was the lantern in front of the engine, looking like a red star which

grew larger and larger. Strident whistles pierced the night, then

suddenly ceased, and you only heard the panting of the steam and the dull

roar of the wheels gradually slackening their speed. Then the canticle

became distinctly audible, the song of Bernadette with the ever-recurring

"Aves" of its refrain, which the whole train was chanting in chorus. And

at last this train of suffering and faith, this moaning, singing train,

thus making its entry into Lourdes, drew up in the station.

The carriage doors were at once opened, the whole throng of healthy

pilgrims, and of ailing ones able to walk, alighted, and streamed over

the platform. The few gas lamps cast but a feeble light on the crowd of

poverty-stricken beings clad in faded garments, and encumbered with all

sorts of parcels, baskets, valises, and boxes. And amidst all the

jostling of this scared flock, which did not know in which direction to

turn to find its way out of the station, loud exclamations were heard,

the shouts of people calling relatives whom they had lost, mingled with

the embraces of others whom relatives or friends had come to meet. One

woman declared with beatifical satisfaction, "I have slept well." A

priest went off carrying his travelling-bag, after wishing a crippled

lady "good luck!" Most of them had the bewildered, weary, yet joyous

appearance of people whom an excursion train sets down at some unknown

station. And such became the scramble and the confusion in the darkness,

that they did not hear the railway _employes_ who grew quite hoarse

through shouting, "This way! this way!" in their eagerness to clear the

platform as soon as possible.

Sister Hyacinthe had nimbly alighted from her compartment, leaving the

dead man in the charge of Sister Claire des Anges; and, losing her head

somewhat, she ran off to the cantine van in the idea that Ferrand would

be able to help her. Fortunately she found Father Fourcade in front of

the van and acquainted him with the fatality in a low voice. Repressing a

gesture of annoyance, he thereupon called Baron Suire, who was passing,

and began whispering in his ear. The muttering lasted for a few seconds,

and then the Baron rushed off, and clove his way through the crowd with

two bearers carrying a covered litter. In this the man was removed from

the carriage as though he were a patient who had simply fainted, the mob

of pilgrims paying no further attention to him amidst all the emotion of

their arrival. Preceded by the Baron, the bearers carried the corpse into

a goods office, where they provisionally lodged it behind some barrels;

one of them, a fair-haired little fellow, a general's son, remaining to

watch over it.

Meanwhile, after begging Ferrand and Sister Saint-Francois to go and wait

for her in the courtyard of the station, near the reserved vehicle which

was to take them to the Hospital of Our Lady of Dolours, Sister Hyacinthe

returned to the railway carriage and talked of helping her patients to

alight before going away. But Marie would not let her touch her. "No,

no!" said the girl, "do not trouble about me, Sister. I shall remain here

the last. My father and Abbe Froment have gone to the van to fetch the

wheels; I am waiting for their return; they know how to fix them, and

they will take me away all right, you may be sure of it."

In the same way M. Sabathier and Brother Isidore did not desire to be

moved until the crowd had decreased. Madame de Jonquiere, who had taken

charge of La Grivotte, also promised to see to Madame Vetu's removal in

an ambulance vehicle. And thereupon Sister Hyacinthe decided that she

would go off at once so as to get everything ready at the hospital.

Moreover, she took with her both little Sophie Couteau and Elise Rouquet,

whose face she very carefully wrapped up. Madame Maze preceded them,

while Madame Vincent, carrying her little girl, who was unconscious and

quite white, struggled through the crowd, possessed by the fixed idea of

running off as soon as possible and depositing the child in the Grotto at

the feet of the Blessed Virgin.

The mob was now pressing towards the doorway by which passengers left the

station, and to facilitate the egress of all these people it at last

became necessary to open the luggage gates. The _employes_, at a loss how

to take the tickets, held out their caps, which a downpour of the little

cards speedily filled. And in the courtyard, a large square courtyard,

skirted on three sides by the low buildings of the station, the most

extraordinary uproar prevailed amongst all the vehicles of divers kinds

which were there jumbled together. The hotel omnibuses, backed against

the curb of the footway, displayed the most sacred names on their large

boards--Jesus and Mary, St. Michel, the Rosary, and the Sacred Heart.

Then there were ambulance vehicles, landaus, cabriolets, brakes, and

little donkey carts, all entangled together, with their drivers shouting,

swearing, and cracking their whips--the tumult being apparently increased

by the obscurity in which the lanterns set brilliant patches of light.

Rain had fallen heavily a few hours previously. Liquid mud splashed up

under the hoofs of the horses; the foot passengers sank into it to their

ankles. M. Vigneron, whom Madame Vigneron and Madame Chaise were

following in a state of distraction, raised Gustave, in order to place

him in the omnibus from the Hotel of the Apparitions, after which he

himself and the ladies climbed into the vehicle. Madame Maze, shuddering

slightly, like a delicate tabby who fears to dirty the tips of her paws,

made a sign to the driver of an old brougham, got into it, and quickly

drove away, after giving as address the Convent of the Blue Sisters. And

at last Sister Hyacinthe was able to install herself with Elise Rouquet

and Sophie Couteau in a large _char-a-bancs_, in which Ferrand and

Sisters Saint-Francois and Claire des Anges were already seated. The

drivers whipped up their spirited little horses, and the vehicles went

off at a breakneck pace, amidst the shouts of those left behind, and the

splashing of the mire.

In presence of that rushing torrent, Madame Vincent, with her dear little

burden in her arms, hesitated to cross over. Bursts of laughter rang out

around her every now and then. Oh! what a filthy mess! And at sight of

all the mud, the women caught up their skirts before attempting to pass

through it. At last, when the courtyard had somewhat emptied, Madame

Vincent herself ventured on her way, all terror lest the mire should make

her fall in that black darkness. Then, on reaching a downhill road, she

noticed there a number of women of the locality who were on the watch,

offering furnished rooms, bed and board, according to the state of the

pilgrim's purse.

"Which is the way to the Grotto, madame, if you please?" asked Madame

Vincent, addressing one old woman of the party.

Instead of answering the question, however, the other offered her a cheap

room. "You won't find anything in the hotels," said she, "for they are

all full. Perhaps you will be able to eat there, but you certainly won't

find a closet even to sleep in."

Eat, sleep, indeed! Had Madame Vincent any thought of such things; she

who had left Paris with thirty sous in her pocket, all that remained to

her after the expenses she had been put to!

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

Among the women who were thus touting for lodgers, there was a tall,

well-built girl, dressed like a superior servant, and looking very clean,

with carefully tended hands. She glanced at Madame Vincent and slightly

shrugged her shoulders. And then, seeing a broad-chested priest with a

red face go by, she rushed after him, offered him a furnished room, and

continued following him, whispering in his ear.

Another girl, however, at last took pity on Madame Vincent and said to

her: "Here, go down this road, and when you get to the bottom, turn to

the right and you will reach the Grotto."

Meanwhile, the confusion inside the station continued. The healthy

pilgrims, and those of the sick who retained the use of their legs could

go off, thus, in some measure, clearing the platform; but the others, the

more grievously stricken sufferers whom it was difficult to get out of

the carriages and remove to the hospital, remained waiting. The bearers