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only son, who is so dear to us too."

All around them the approach of the _dejeuner_ hour was now throwing the

house into commotion. Every door was banging, and the passages and the

staircase resounded with the constant pitter-patter of feet. Three big

girls passed by, raising a current of air with the sweep of their skirts.

Some little children were crying in a neighbouring room. Then there were

old people who seemed quite scared, and distracted priests who,

forgetting their calling, caught up their cassocks with both hands, so

that they might run the faster to the dining-room. From the top to the

bottom of the house one could feel the floors shaking under the excessive

weight of all the people who were packed inside the hotel.

"Oh, I hope that it is all over now, and that the Blessed Virgin will

cure him," repeated M. Vigneron, before allowing his neighbours to

retire. "We are going down-stairs, for I must confess that all this has

made me feel faint. I need something to eat, I am terribly hungry."

When Pierre and M. de Guersaint at last left their rooms, and went

down-stairs, they found to their annoyance that there was not the

smallest table-corner vacant in the large dining-room. A most

extraordinary mob had assembled there, and the few seats that were still

unoccupied were reserved. A waiter informed them that the room never

emptied between ten and one o'clock, such was the rush of appetite,

sharpened by the keen mountain air. So they had to resign themselves to

wait, requesting the waiter to warn them as soon as there should be a

couple of vacant places. Then, scarcely knowing what to do with

themselves, they went to walk about the hotel porch, whence there was a

view of the street, along which the townsfolk, in their Sunday best,

streamed without a pause.

All at once, however, the landlord of the Hotel of the Apparitions,

Master Majeste in person, appeared before them, clad in white from head

to foot; and with a great show of politeness he inquired if the gentlemen

would like to wait in the drawing-room. He was a stout man of

five-and-forty, and strove to bear the burden of his name in a right

royal fashion. Bald and clean-shaven, with round blue eyes in a waxy

face, displaying three superposed chins, he always deported himself with

much dignity. He had come from Nevers with the Sisters who managed the

orphan asylum, and was married to a dusky little woman, a native of

Lourdes. In less than fifteen years they had made their hotel one of the

most substantial and best patronised establishments in the town. Of

recent times, moreover, they had started a business in religious

articles, installed in a large shop on the left of the hotel porch and

managed by a young niece under Madame Majeste's Supervision.

"You can wait in the drawing-room, gentlemen," again suggested the

hotel-keeper whom Pierre's cassock rendered very attentive.

They replied, however, that they preferred to walk about and wait in the

open air. And thereupon Majeste would not leave them, but deigned to chat

with them for a moment as he was wont to do with those of his customers

whom he desired to honour. The conversation turned at first on the

procession which would take place that night and which promised to be a

superb spectacle as the weather was so fine. There were more than fifty

thousand strangers gathered together in Lourdes that day, for visitors

had come in from all the neighbouring bathing stations. This explained

the crush at the _table d'hote_. Possibly the town would run short of

bread as had been the case the previous year.

"You saw what a scramble there is," concluded Majeste, "we really don't

know how to manage. It isn't my fault, I assure you, if you are kept

waiting for a short time."

At this moment, however, a postman arrived with a large batch of

newspapers and letters which he deposited on a table in the office. He

had kept one letter in his hand and inquired of the landlord, "Have you a

Madame Maze here?"

"Madame Maze, Madame Maze," repeated the hotel-keeper. "No, no, certainly

not."

Pierre had heard both question and answer, and drawing near he exclaimed,

"I know of a Madame Maze who must be lodging with the Sisters of the

Immaculate Conception, the Blue Sisters as people call them here, I

think."

The postman thanked him for the information and went off, but a somewhat

bitter smile had risen to Majeste's lips. "The Blue Sisters," he

muttered, "ah! the Blue Sisters." Then, darting a side glance at Pierre's

cassock, he stopped short, as though he feared that he might say too

much. Yet his heart was overflowing; he would have greatly liked to ease

his feelings, and this young priest from Paris, who looked so

liberal-minded, could not be one of the "band" as he called all those who

discharged functions at the Grotto and coined money out of Our Lady of

Lourdes. Accordingly, little by little, he ventured to speak out.

"I am a good Christian, I assure you, Monsieur l'Abbe," said he. "In fact

we are all good Christians here. And I am a regular worshipper and take

the sacrament every Easter. But, really, I must say that members of a

religious community ought not to keep hotels. No, no, it isn't right!"

And thereupon he vented all the spite of a tradesman in presence of what

he considered to be disloyal competition. Ought not those Blue Sisters,

those Sisters of the Immaculate Conception, to have confined themselves

to their real functions, the manufacture of wafers for sacramental

purposes, and the repairing and washing of church linen? Instead of that,

however, they had transformed their convent into a vast hostelry, where

ladies who came to Lourdes unaccompanied found separate rooms, and were

able to take their meals either in privacy or in a general dining-room.

Everything was certainly very clean, very well organised and very

inexpensive, thanks to the thousand advantages which the Sisters enjoyed;

in fact, no hotel at Lourdes did so much business. "But all the same,"

continued Majeste, "I ask you if it is proper. To think of nuns selling

victuals! Besides, I must tell you that the lady superior is really a

clever woman, and as soon as she saw the stream of fortune rolling in,

she wanted to keep it all for her own community and resolutely parted

with the Fathers of the Grotto who wanted to lay their hands on it. Yes,

Monsieur l'Abbe, she even went to Rome and gained her cause there, so

that now she pockets all the money that her bills bring in. Think of it,

nuns, yes nuns, _mon Dieu_! letting furnished rooms and keeping a _table

d'hote_!"

He raised his arms to heaven, he was stifling with envy and vexation.

"But as your house is crammed," Pierre gently objected, "as you no longer

have either a bed or a plate at anybody's disposal, where would you put

any additional visitors who might arrive here?"

Majeste at once began protesting. "Ah! Monsieur l'Abbe!" said he, "one

can see very well that you don't know the place. It's quite true that

there is work for all of us, and that nobody has reason to complain

during the national pilgrimage. But that only lasts four or five days,

and in ordinary times the custom we secure isn't nearly so great. For

myself, thank Heaven, I am always satisfied. My house is well known, it

occupies the same rank as the Hotel of the Grotto, where two landlords

have already made their fortunes. But no matter, it is vexing to see

those Blue Sisters taking all the cream of the custom, for instance the

ladies of the _bourgeoisie_ who spend a fortnight and three weeks here at

a stretch; and that, too, just in the quiet season, when there are not

many people here. You understand, don't you? There are people of position

who dislike uproar; they go by themselves to the Grotto, and pray there

all day long, for days together, and pay good prices for their

accommodation without any higgling."

Madame Majeste, whom Pierre and M. de Guersaint had not noticed leaning

over an account-book in which she was adding up some figures, thereupon

intervened in a shrill voice: "We had a customer like that, gentlemen,

who stayed here for two months last year. She went to the Grotto, came

back, went there again, took her meals, and went to bed. And never did we

have a word of complaint from her; she was always smiling, as though to

say that she found everything very nice. She paid her bill, too, without

even looking at it. Ah! one regrets people of that kind."

Short, thin, very dark, and dressed in black, with a little white collar,

Madame Majeste had risen to her feet; and she now began to solicit

custom: "If you would like to buy a few little souvenirs of Lourdes

before you leave, gentlemen, I hope that you will not forget us. We have

a shop close by, where you will find an assortment of all the articles

that are most in request. As a rule, the persons who stay here are kind

enough not to deal elsewhere."

However, Majeste was again wagging his head, with the air of a good

Christian saddened by the scandals of the time. "Certainly," said he, "I

don't want to show any disrespect to the reverend Fathers, but it must in

all truth be admitted that they are too greedy. You must have seen the

shop which they have set up near the Grotto, that shop which is always

crowded, and where tapers and articles of piety are sold. A bishop

declared that it was shameful, and that the buyers and sellers ought to

be driven out of the temple afresh. It is said, too, that the Fathers run

that big shop yonder, just across the street, which supplies all the

petty dealers in the town. And, according to the reports which circulate,

they have a finger in all the trade in religious articles, and levy a

percentage on the millions of chaplets, statuettes, and medals which are

sold every year at Lourdes."

Majeste had now lowered his voice, for his accusations were becoming

precise, and he ended by trembling somewhat at his imprudence in talking

so confidentially to strangers. However, the expression of Pierre's

gentle, attentive face reassured him; and so he continued with the

passion of a wounded rival, resolved to go on to the very end: "I am

willing to admit that there is some exaggeration in all this. But all the

same, it does religion no good for people to see the reverend Fathers

keeping shops like us tradesmen. For my part, of course, I don't go and

ask for a share of the money which they make by their masses, or a

percentage on the presents which they receive, so why should they start

selling what I sell? Our business was a poor one last year owing to them.

There are already too many of us; nowadays everyone at Lourdes sells

'religious articles,' to such an extent, in fact, that there will soon be

no butchers or wine merchants left--nothing but bread to eat and water to

drink. Ah! Monsieur l'Abbe, it is no doubt nice to have the Blessed

Virgin with us, but things are none the less very bad at times."

A person staying at the hotel at that moment disturbed him, but he

returned just as a young girl came in search of Madame Majeste. The

damsel, who evidently belonged to Lourdes, was very pretty, small but

plump, with beautiful black hair, and a round face full of bright gaiety.

"That is our niece Apolline," resumed Majeste. "She has been keeping our

shop for two years past. She is the daughter of one of my wife's

brothers, who is in poor circumstances. She was keeping sheep at Ossun,

in the neighbourhood of Bartres, when we were struck by her intelligence

and nice looks and decided to bring her here; and we don't repent having

done so, for she has a great deal of merit, and has become a very good

saleswoman."

A point to which he omitted to refer, was that there were rumours current

of somewhat flighty conduct on Mademoiselle Apolline's part. But she

undoubtedly had her value: she attracted customers by the power,

possibly, of her large black eyes, which smiled so readily. During his

sojourn at Lourdes the previous year, Gerard de Peyrelongue had scarcely

stirred from the shop she managed, and doubtless it was only the

matrimonial ideas now flitting through his head that prevented him from

returning thither. It seemed as though the Abbe des Hermoises had taken

his place, for this gallant ecclesiastic brought a great many ladies to

make purchases at the repository.

"Ah! you are speaking of Apolline," said Madame Majeste, at that moment

coming back from the shop. "Have you noticed one thing about her,

gentlemen--her extraordinary likeness to Bernadette? There, on the wall

yonder, is a photograph of Bernadette when she was eighteen years old."

Pierre and M. de Guersaint drew near to examine the portrait, whilst

Majeste exclaimed: "Bernadette, yes, certainly--she was rather like

Apolline, but not nearly so nice; she looked so sad and poor."

He would doubtless have gone on chattering, but just then the waiter

appeared and announced that there was at last a little table vacant. M.

de Guersaint had twice gone to glance inside the dining-room, for he was

eager to have his _dejeuner_ and spend the remainder of that fine Sunday

out-of-doors. So he now hastened away, without paying any further

attention to Majeste, who remarked, with an amiable smile, that the

gentlemen had not had so very long to wait after all.

To reach the table mentioned by the waiter, the architect and Pierre had

to cross the dining-room from end to end. It was a long apartment,

painted a light oak colour, an oily yellow, which was already peeling

away in places and soiled with stains in others. You realised that rapid

wear and tear went on here amidst the continual scramble of the big

eaters who sat down at table. The only ornaments were a gilt zinc clock

and a couple of meagre candelabra on the mantelpiece. Guipure curtains,