第 7 页

opinions and declared that she was beyond cure. Moreover, she now solely

relied upon the divine help, having grown rigidly pious since she had

been suffering, and finding her only relief in her ardent faith. Every

morning she herself read the holy offices, for to her great sorrow she

was unable to go to church. Her inert limbs indeed seemed quite lifeless,

and she had sunk into a condition of extreme weakness, to such a point,

in fact, that on certain days it became necessary for her sister to place

her food in her mouth.

Pierre was thinking of this when all at once he recalled an evening he

had spent with her. The lamp had not yet been lighted, he was seated

beside her in the growing obscurity, and she suddenly told him that she

wished to go to Lourdes, feeling certain that she would return cured. He

had experienced an uncomfortable sensation on hearing her speak in this

fashion, and quite forgetting himself had exclaimed that it was folly to

believe in such childishness. He had hitherto made it a rule never to

converse with her on religious matters, having not only refused to be her

confessor, but even to advise her with regard to the petty uncertainties

of her pietism. In this respect he was influenced by feelings of mingled

shame and compassion; to lie to her of all people would have made him

suffer, and, moreover, he would have deemed himself a criminal had he

even by a breath sullied that fervent pure faith which lent her such

strength against pain. And so, regretting that he had not been able to

restrain his exclamation, he remained sorely embarrassed, when all at

once he felt the girl's cold hand take hold of his own. And then,

emboldened by the darkness, she ventured in a gentle, faltering voice, to

tell him that she already knew his secret, his misfortune, that

wretchedness, so fearful for a priest, of being unable to believe.

Despite himself he had revealed everything during their chats together,

and she, with the delicate intuition of a friend, had been able to read

his conscience. She felt terribly distressed on his account; she deemed

him, with that mortal moral malady, to be more deserving of pity than

herself. And then as he, thunderstruck, was still unable to find an

answer, acknowledging the truth of her words by his very silence, she

again began to speak to him of Lourdes, adding in a low whisper that she

wished to confide him as well as herself to the protection of the Blessed

Virgin, whom she entreated to restore him to faith. And from that evening

forward she did not cease speaking on the subject, repeating again and

again, that if she went to Lourdes she would be surely cured. But she was

prevented from making the journey by lack of means and she did not even

dare to speak to her sister of the pecuniary question. So two months went

by, and day by day she grew weaker, exhausted by her longing dreams, her

eyes ever turned towards the flashing light of the miraculous Grotto far

away. Pierre then experienced many painful days. He had at first told

Marie that he would not accompany her. But his decision was somewhat

shaken by the thought that if he made up his mind to go, he might profit

by the journey to continue his inquiries with regard to Bernadette, whose

charming image lingered in his heart. And at last he even felt penetrated

by a delightful feeling, an unacknowledged hope, the hope that Marie was

perhaps right, that the Virgin might take pity on him and restore to him

his former blind faith, the faith of the child who loves and does not

question. Oh! to believe, to believe with his whole soul, to plunge into

faith for ever! Doubtless there was no other possible happiness. He

longed for faith with all the joyousness of his youth, with all the love

that he had felt for his mother, with all his burning desire to escape

from the torment of understanding and knowing, and to slumber forever in

the depths of divine ignorance. It was cowardly, and yet so delightful;

to exist no more, to become a mere thing in the hands of the Divinity.

And thus he was at last possessed by a desire to make the supreme

experiment.

A week later the journey to Lourdes was decided upon. Pierre, however,

had insisted on a final consultation of medical men in order to ascertain

if it were really possible for Marie to travel; and this again was a

scene which rose up before him, with certain incidents which he ever

beheld whilst others were already fading from his mind. Two of the

doctors who had formerly attended the patient, and one of whom believed

in the rupture of certain ligaments, whilst the other asserted the case

to be one of medullary paralysis, had ended by agreeing that this

paralysis existed, and that there was also, possibly, some ligamentary

injury. In their opinion all the symptoms pointed to this diagnosis, and

the nature of the case seemed to them so evident that they did not

hesitate to give certificates, each his own, agreeing almost word for

word with one another, and so positive in character as to leave no room

for doubt. Moreover, they thought that the journey was practicable,

though it would certainly prove an exceedingly painful one. Pierre

thereupon resolved to risk it, for he had found the doctors very prudent,

and very desirous to arrive at the truth; and he retained but a confused

recollection of the third medical man who had been called in, a distant

cousin of his named De Beauclair, who was young, extremely intelligent,

but little known as yet, and said by some to be rather strange in his

theories. This doctor, after looking at Marie for a long time, had asked

somewhat anxiously about her parents, and had seemed greatly interested

by what was told him of M. de Guersaint, this architect and inventor with

a weak and exuberant mind. Then he had desired to measure the sufferer's

visual field, and by a slight discreet touch had ascertained the locality

of the pain, which, under certain pressure, seemed to ascend like a heavy

shifting mass towards the breast. He did not appear to attach importance

to the paralysis of the legs; but on a direct question being put to him

he exclaimed that the girl ought to be taken to Lourdes and that she

would assuredly be cured there, if she herself were convinced of it.

Faith sufficed, said he, with a smile; two pious lady patients of his,

whom he had sent thither during the preceding year, had returned in

radiant health. He even predicted how the miracle would come about; it

would be like a lightning stroke, an awakening, an exaltation of the

entire being, whilst the evil, that horrid, diabolical weight which

stifled the poor girl would once more ascend and fly away as though

emerging by her mouth. But at the same time he flatly declined to give a

certificate. He had failed to agree with his two _confreres_, who treated

him coldly, as though they considered him a wild, adventurous young

fellow. Pierre confusedly remembered some shreds of the discussion which

had begun again in his presence, some little part of the diagnosis framed

by Beauclair. First, a dislocation of the organ, with a slight laceration

of the ligaments, resulting from the patient's fall from her horse; then

a slow healing, everything returning to its place, followed by

consecutive nervous symptoms, so that the sufferer was now simply beset

by her original fright, her attention fixed on the injured part, arrested

there amidst increasing pain, incapable of acquiring fresh notions unless

it were under the lash of some violent emotion. Moreover, he also

admitted the probability of accidents due to nutrition, as yet

unexplained, and on the course and importance of which he himself would

not venture to give an opinion. However, the idea that Marie _dreamt_ her

disease, that the fearful sufferings torturing her came from an injury

long since healed, appeared such a paradox to Pierre when he gazed at her

and saw her in such agony, her limbs already stretched out lifeless on

her bed of misery, that he did not even pause to consider it; but at that

moment felt simply happy in the thought that all three doctors agreed in

authorising the journey to Lourdes. To him it was sufficient that she

_might_ be cured, and to attain that result he would have followed her to

the end of the world.

Ah! those last days of Paris, amid what a scramble they were spent! The

national pilgrimage was about to start, and in order to avoid heavy

expenses, it had occurred to him to obtain _hospitalisation_ for Marie.

Then he had been obliged to run about in order to obtain his own

admission, as a helper, into the Hospitality of Our Lady of Salvation. M.

de Guersaint was delighted with the prospect of the journey, for he was

fond of nature, and ardently desired to become acquainted with the

Pyrenees. Moreover, he did not allow anything to worry him, but was

perfectly willing that the young priest should pay his railway fare, and

provide for him at the hotel yonder as for a child; and his daughter

Blanche, having slipped a twenty-franc piece into his hand at the last

moment, he had even thought himself rich again. That poor brave Blanche

had a little hidden store of her own, savings to the amount of fifty

francs, which it had been absolutely necessary to accept, for she became

quite angry in her determination to contribute towards her sister's cure,

unable as she was to form one of the party, owing to the lessons which

she had to give in Paris, whose hard pavements she must continue pacing,

whilst her dear ones were kneeling yonder, amidst the enchantments of the

Grotto. And so the others had started on, and were now rolling, ever

rolling along.

As they passed the station of Chatellerault a sudden burst of voices made

Pierre start, and drove away the torpor into which his reverie had

plunged him. What was the matter? Were they reaching Poitiers? But it was

only half-past twelve o'clock, and it was simply Sister Hyacinthe who had

roused him, by making her patients and pilgrims say the Angelus, the

three "Aves" thrice repeated. Then the voices burst forth, and the sound

of a fresh canticle arose, and continued like a lamentation. Fully five

and twenty minutes must elapse before they would reach Poitiers, where it

seemed as if the half-hour's stoppage would bring relief to every

suffering! They were all so uncomfortable, so roughly shaken in that

malodorous, burning carriage! Such wretchedness was beyond endurance. Big

tears coursed down the cheeks of Madame Vincent, a muttered oath escaped

M. Sabathier usually so resigned, and Brother Isidore, La Grivotte, and

Madame Vetu seemed to have become inanimate, mere waifs carried along by

a torrent. Moreover, Marie no longer answered, but had closed her eyes

and would not open them, pursued as she was by the horrible vision of

Elise Rouquet's face, that face with its gaping cavities which seemed to

her to be the image of death. And whilst the train increased its speed,

bearing all this human despair onward, under the heavy sky, athwart the

burning plains, there was yet another scare in the carriage. The strange

man had apparently ceased to breathe, and a voice cried out that he was

expiring.

III. POITIERS

AS soon as the train arrived at Poitiers, Sister Hyacinthe alighted in

all haste, amidst the crowd of porters opening the carriage doors, and of

pilgrims darting forward to reach the platform. "Wait a moment, wait a

moment," she repeated, "let me pass first. I wish to see if all is over."

Then, having entered the other compartment, she raised the strange man's

head, and seeing him so pale, with such blank eyes, she did at first

think him already dead. At last, however, she detected a faint breathing.

"No, no," she then exclaimed, "he still breathes. Quick! there is no time

to be lost." And, perceiving the other Sister, she added: "Sister Claire

des Anges, will you go and fetch Father Massias, who must be in the third

or fourth carriage of the train? Tell him that we have a patient in very

great danger here, and ask him to bring the Holy Oils at once."

Without answering, the other Sister at once plunged into the midst of the

scramble. She was small, slender, and gentle, with a meditative air and

mysterious eyes, but withal extremely active.

Pierre, who was standing in the other compartment watching the scene, now

ventured to make a suggestion: "And would it not be as well to fetch the

doctor?" said he.

"Yes, I was thinking of it," replied Sister Hyacinthe, "and, Monsieur

l'Abbe, it would be very kind of you to go for him yourself."

It so happened that Pierre intended going to the cantine carriage to

fetch some broth for Marie. Now that she was no longer being jolted she

felt somewhat relieved, and had opened her eyes, and caused her father to

raise her to a sitting posture. Keenly thirsting for fresh air, she would

have much liked them to carry her out on to the platform for a moment,

but she felt that it would be asking too much, that it would be too

troublesome a task to place her inside the carriage again. So M. de

Guersaint remained by himself on the platform, near the open door,

smoking a cigarette, whilst Pierre hastened to the cantine van, where he

knew he would find the doctor on duty, with his travelling pharmacy.

Some other patients, whom one could not think of removing, also remained

in the carriage. Amongst them was La Grivotte, who was stifling and

almost delirious, in such a state indeed as to detain Madame de

Jonquiere, who had arranged to meet her daughter Raymonde, with Madame

Volmar and Madame Desagneaux, in the refreshment-room, in order that they

might all four lunch together. But that unfortunate creature seemed on

the point of expiring, so how could she leave her all alone, on the hard

seat of that carriage? On his side, M. Sabathier, likewise riveted to his

seat, was waiting for his wife, who had gone to fetch a bunch of grapes

for him; whilst Marthe had remained with her brother the missionary,

whose faint moan never ceased. The others, those who were able to walk,

had hustled one another in their haste to alight, all eager as they were