第 22 页

which made his voice tremble. "If mademoiselle gets well," he said, "I

will wish her another miracle, that she be happy."

Then he went off, dragging his foot and tapping the flagstones with the

ferrule of his stout stick as he continued wending his way, like an angry

philosopher among the suffering pilgrims.

Little by little, the platform was at last cleared. Madame Vetu and La

Grivotte were carried away, and Gerard removed M. Sabathier in a little

cart, whilst Baron Suire and Berthaud already began giving orders for the

green train, which would be the next one to arrive. Of all the ailing

pilgrims the only one now remaining at the station was Marie, of whom

Pierre jealously took charge. He had already dragged her into the

courtyard when he noticed that M. de Guersaint had disappeared; but a

moment later he perceived him conversing with the Abbe des Hermoises,

whose acquaintance he had just made. Their admiration of the beauties of

nature had brought them together. The daylight had now appeared, and the

surrounding mountains displayed themselves in all their majesty.

"What a lovely country, monsieur!" exclaimed M. de Guersaint. "I have

been wishing to see the Cirque de Gavarnie for thirty years past. But it

is some distance away and the trip must be an expensive one, so that I

fear I shall not be able to make it."

"You are mistaken, monsieur," said the Abbe; "nothing is more easily

managed. By making up a party the expense becomes very slight. And as it

happens, I wish to return there this year, so that if you would like to

join us--"

"Oh, certainly, monsieur. We will speak of it again. A thousand thanks,"

replied M. de Guersaint.

His daughter was now calling him, however, and he joined her after taking

leave of the Abbe in a very cordial manner. Pierre had decided that he

would drag Marie to the hospital so as to spare her the pain of

transference to another vehicle. But as the omnibuses, landaus, and other

conveyances were already coming back, again filling the courtyard in

readiness for the arrival of the next train, the young priest had some

difficulty in reaching the road with the little chariot whose low wheels

sank deeply in the mud. Some police agents charged with maintaining order

were cursing that fearful mire which splashed their boots; and indeed it

was only the touts, the young and old women who had rooms to let, who

laughed at the puddles, which they crossed and crossed again in every

direction, pursuing the last pilgrims that emerged from the station.

When the little car had begun to roll more easily over the sloping road

Marie suddenly inquired of M. de Guersaint, who was walking near her:

"What day of the week is it, father?"

"Saturday, my darling."

"Ah! yes, Saturday, the day of the Blessed Virgin. Is it to-day that she

will cure me?"

Then she began thinking again; while, at some distance behind her, two

bearers came furtively down the road, with a covered stretcher in which

lay the corpse of the man who had died in the train. They had gone to

take it from behind the barrels in the goods office, and were now

conveying it to a secret spot of which Father Fourcade had told them.

II. HOSPITAL AND GROTTO

BUILT, so far as it extends, by a charitable Canon, and left unfinished

through lack of money, the Hospital of Our Lady of Dolours is a vast

pile, four storeys high, and consequently far too lofty, since it is

difficult to carry the sufferers to the topmost wards. As a rule the

building is occupied by a hundred infirm and aged paupers; but at the

season of the national pilgrimage these old folks are for three days

sheltered elsewhere, and the hospital is let to the Fathers of the

Assumption, who at times lodge in it as many as five and six hundred

patients. Still, however closely packed they may be, the accommodation

never suffices, so that the three or four hundred remaining sufferers

have to be distributed between the Hospital of Salvation and the town

hospital, the men being sent to the former and the women to the latter

institution.

That morning at sunrise great confusion prevailed in the sand-covered

courtyard of Our Lady of Dolours, at the door of which a couple of

priests were mounting guard. The temporary staff, with its formidable

supply of registers, cards, and printed formulas, had installed itself in

one of the ground-floor rooms on the previous day. The managers were

desirous of greatly improving upon the organisation of the preceding

year. The lower wards were this time to be reserved to the most helpless

sufferers; and in order to prevent a repetition of the cases of mistaken

identity which had occurred in the past, very great care was to be taken

in filling in and distributing the admission cards, each of which bore

the name of a ward and the number of a bed. It became difficult, however,

to act in accordance with these good intentions in presence of the

torrent of ailing beings which the white train had brought to Lourdes,

and the new formalities so complicated matters that the patients had to

be deposited in the courtyard as they arrived, to wait there until it

became possible to admit them in something like an orderly manner. It was

the scene witnessed at the railway station all over again, the same

woeful camping in the open, whilst the bearers and the young seminarists

who acted as the secretary's assistants ran hither and thither in

bewilderment.

"We have been over-ambitious, we wanted to do things too well!" exclaimed

Baron Suire in despair.

There was much truth in his remark, for never had a greater number of

useless precautions been taken, and they now discovered that, by some

inexplicable error, they had allotted not the lower--but the

higher-placed wards to the patients whom it was most difficult to move.

It was impossible to begin the classification afresh, however, and so as

in former years things must be allowed to take their course, in a

haphazard way. The distribution of the cards began, a young priest at the

same time entering each patient's name and address in a register.

Moreover, all the _hospitalisation_ cards bearing the patients' names and

numbers had to be produced, so that the names of the wards and the

numbers of the beds might be added to them; and all these formalities

greatly protracted the _defile_.

Then there was an endless coming and going from the top to the bottom of

the building, and from one to the other end of each of its four floors.

M. Sabathier was one of the first to secure admittance, being placed in a

ground-floor room which was known as the Family Ward. Sick men were there

allowed to have their wives with them; but to the other wards of the

hospital only women were admitted. Brother Isidore, it is true, was

accompanied by his sister; however, by a special favour it was agreed

that they should be considered as conjoints, and the missionary was

accordingly placed in the bed next to that allotted to M. Sabathier. The

chapel, still littered with plaster and with its unfinished windows

boarded up, was close at hand. There were also various wards in an

unfinished state; still these were filled with mattresses, on which

sufferers were rapidly placed. All those who could walk, however, were

already besieging the refectory, a long gallery whose broad windows

looked into an inner courtyard; and the Saint-Frai Sisters, who managed

the hospital at other times, and had remained to attend to the cooking,

began to distribute bowls of coffee and chocolate among the poor women

whom the terrible journey had exhausted.

"Rest yourselves and try to gain a little strength," repeated Baron

Suire, who was ever on the move, showing himself here, there, and

everywhere in rapid succession. "You have three good hours before you, it

is not yet five, and their reverences have given orders that you are not

to be taken to the Grotto until eight o'clock, so as to avoid any

excessive fatigue."

Meanwhile, up above on the second floor, Madame de Jonquiere had been one

of the first to take possession of the Sainte-Honorine Ward of which she

was the superintendent. She had been obliged to leave her daughter

Raymonde downstairs, for the regulations did not allow young girls to

enter the wards, where they might have witnessed sights that were

scarcely proper or else too horrible for such eyes as theirs. Raymonde

had therefore remained in the refectory as a helper; however, little

Madame Desagneaux, being a lady-hospitaller, had not left the

superintendent, and was already asking her for orders, in her delight

that she should at last be able to render some assistance.

"Are all these beds properly made, madame?" she inquired; "perhaps I had

better make them afresh with Sister Hyacinthe."

The ward, whose walls were painted a light yellow, and whose few windows

admitted but little light from an inner yard, contained fifteen beds,

standing in two rows against the walls.

"We will see by-and-by," replied Madame de Jonquiere with an absorbed

air. She was busy counting the beds and examining the long narrow

apartment. And this accomplished she added in an undertone: "I shall

never have room enough. They say that I must accommodate twenty-three

patients. We shall have to put some mattresses down."

Sister Hyacinthe, who had followed the ladies after leaving Sister

Saint-Francois and Sister Claire des Anges in a small adjoining apartment

which was being transformed into a linen-room, then began to lift up the

coverlets and examine the bedding. And she promptly reassured Madame

Desagneaux with regard to her surmises. "Oh! the beds are properly made,"

she said; "everything is very clean too. One can see that the Saint-Frai

Sisters have attended to things themselves. The reserve mattresses are in

the next room, however, and if madame will lend me a hand we can place

some of them between the beds at once.

"Oh, certainly!" exclaimed young Madame Desagneaux, quite excited by the

idea of carrying mattresses about with her weak slender arms.

It became necessary for Madame de Jonquiere to calm her. "By-and-by,"

said the lady-superintendent; "there is no hurry. Let us wait till our

patients arrive. I don't much like this ward, it is so difficult to air.

Last year I had the Sainte-Rosalie Ward on the first floor. However, we

will organise matters, all the same."

Some other lady-hospitallers were now arriving, quite a hiveful of busy

bees, all eager to start on their work. The confusion which so often

arose was, in fact, increased by the excessive number of nurses, women of

the aristocracy and upper-middle class, with whose fervent zeal some

little vanity was blended. There were more than two hundred of them, and

as each had to make a donation on joining the Hospitality of Our Lady of

Salvation, the managers did not dare to refuse any applicants, for fear

lest they might check the flow of alms-giving. Thus the number of

lady-hospitallers increased year by year. Fortunately there were among

them some who cared for nothing beyond the privilege of wearing the red

cloth cross, and who started off on excursions as soon as they reached

Lourdes. Still it must be acknowledged that those who devoted themselves

were really deserving, for they underwent five days of awful fatigue,

sleeping scarcely a couple of hours each night, and living in the midst

of the most terrible and repulsive spectacles. They witnessed the death

agonies, dressed the pestilential sores, cleaned up, changed linen,

turned the sufferers over in their beds, went through a sickening and

overwhelming labour to which they were in no wise accustomed. And thus

they emerged from it aching all over, tired to death, with feverish eyes

flaming with the joy of the charity which so excited them.

"And Madame Volmar?" suddenly asked Madame Desagneaux. "I thought we

should find her here."

This was apparently a subject which Madame de Jonquiere did not care to

have discussed; for, as though she were aware of the truth and wished to

bury it in silence, with the indulgence of a woman who compassionates

human wretchedness, she promptly retorted: "Madame Volmar isn't strong,

she must have gone to the hotel to rest. We must let her sleep."

Then she apportioned the beds among the ladies present, allotting two to

each of them; and this done they all finished taking possession of the

place, hastening up and down and backwards and forwards in order to

ascertain where the offices, the linen-room, and the kitchens were

situated.

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

But there was no dispensary. There was no medical staff even. What would

have been the use of any?--since the patients were those whom science had

given up, despairing creatures who had come to beg of God the cure which

powerless men were unable to promise them. Logically enough, all

treatment was suspended during the pilgrimage. If a patient seemed likely

to die, extreme unction was administered. The only medical man about the

place was the young doctor who had come by the white train with his

little medicine chest; and his intervention was limited to an endeavour

to assuage the sufferings of those patients who chanced to ask for him

during an attack.

As it happened, Sister Hyacinthe was just bringing Ferrand, whom Sister

Saint-Francois had kept with her in a closet near the linen-room which he

proposed to make his quarters. "Madame," said he to Madame de Jonquiere,

"I am entirely at your disposal. In case of need you will only have to

ring for me."

She barely listened to him, however, engaged as she was in a quarrel with

a young priest belonging to the management with reference to a deficiency

of certain utensils. "Certainly, monsieur, if we should need a soothing

draught," she answered, and then, reverting to her discussion, she went

on: "Well, Monsieur l'Abbe, you must certainly get me four or five more.