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ended by collecting there, a crowd gathered little by little, while she

whispered in the ear of each "Look! that's she; the young party, you

know, 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 without

making a few purchases. The little souvenirs that one carries away with

one are so pleasant to look at later on! And our customers make a point

of never buying elsewhere than here, in the shop which we have annexed to

the hotel."

"I have already offered my services," added Madame Majeste, "and I renew

them. Apolline will be so happy to show mademoiselle all our prettiest

articles, at prices, too, which are incredibly low! Oh! there are some

delightful things, delightful!"

Marie was becoming impatient at being detained in this manner, and Pierre

was suffering from the increasing curiosity which they were arousing. As

for M. de Guersaint, he enjoyed this popularity and triumph of his

daughter immensely, and promised to return.

"Certainly," said he, "we will purchase a few little knick-knacks. Some

souvenirs 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 weather

was again superb after the storms of the two preceding nights. Cooled by

the rain, the morning air was delicious amidst the gaiety which the

bright sun shed around. A busy crowd, well pleased with life, was already

hurrying along the pavements. And what pleasure it all was for Marie, to

whom everything seemed new, charming, inappreciable! In the morning she

had had to allow Raymonde to lend her a pair of boots, for she had taken

good care not to put any in her portmanteau, superstitiously fearing that

they might bring her bad luck. However, Raymonde's boots fitted her

admirably, and she listened with childish delight to the little heels

tapping merrily on the flagstones. And she did not remember having ever

seen houses so white, trees so green, and passers-by so happy. All her

senses seemed holiday-making, endowed with a marvellously delicate

sensibility; she heard music, smelt distant perfumes, savoured the air

greedily, as though it were some delicious fruit. But what she

considered, above all, so nice, so charming, was to walk along in this

wise on her father's arm. She had never done so before, although she had

felt the desire for years, as for one of those impossible pleasures with

which people occupy their minds when invalided. And now her dream was

realised and her heart beat with joy. She pressed against her father, and

strove to walk very upright and look very handsome, so as to do him

honour. And he was quite proud, as happy as she was, showing, exhibiting

her, overcome with joy at the thought that she belonged to him, that she

was his blood, his flesh, his daughter, henceforth beaming with youth and

health.

As they were all three crossing the Plateau de la Merlasse, already

obstructed by a band of candle and bouquet sellers running after the

pilgrims, M. de Guersaint exclaimed, "We are surely not going to the

Grotto empty-handed!"

Pierre, who was walking on the other side of Marie, himself brightened by

her merry humour, thereupon stopped, and they were at once surrounded by

a crowd of female hawkers, who with eager fingers thrust their goods into

their faces. "My beautiful young lady! My good gentleman! Buy of me, of

me, of me!" Such was the onslaught that it became necessary to struggle

in order to extricate oneself. M. de Guersaint ended by purchasing the

largest nosegay he could see--a bouquet of white marguerites, as round

and hard as a cabbage--from a handsome, fair-haired, well developed girl

of twenty, who was extremely bold both in look and manner. It only cost

twenty sons, and he insisted on paying for it out of his own little

purse, somewhat abashed meantime by the girl's unblushing effrontery.

Then Pierre in his turn settled for the three candles which Marie had

taken from an old woman, candles at two francs each, a very reasonable

price, as she repeatedly said. And on being paid, the old creature, who

had an angular face, covetous eyes, and a nose like the beak of a bird of

prey, returned profuse and mellifluous thanks: "May Our Lady of Lourdes

bless 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 good

woman's wish had already been accomplished.

At the Grotto Marie wished to file off at once, in order to offer the

bouquet and candles herself before even kneeling down. There were not

many people there as yet, and having gone to the end of the line their

turn came after waiting some three or four minutes. And with what

enraptured glances did she then examine everything--the altar of engraved

silver, the harmonium-organ, the votive offerings, the candle-holders,

streaming with wax blazing in broad daylight. She was now inside that

Grotto which she had hitherto only seen from her box of misery; she

breathed there as in Paradise itself, steeped rapturously in a pleasant

warmth and odour, which slightly oppressed her. When she had placed the

tapers at the bottom of the large basket, and had raised herself on

tiptoe to fix the bouquet on one of the spears of the iron railing, she

imprinted a long kiss upon the rock, below the statue of the Blessed

Virgin, at the very spot, indeed, which millions of lips had already

polished. And the stone received a kiss of love in which she put forth

all the strength of her gratitude, a kiss with which her heart melted.

When she was once more outside, Marie prostrated and humbled herself in

an almost endless act of thanksgiving. Her father also had knelt down

near her, and mingled the fervour of his gratitude with hers. But he

could not remain doing the same thing for long. Little by little he

became uneasy, and ended by bending down to his daughter's ear to tell

her 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 would

hurry along and get his troublesome errand over; and then they might walk

about at ease wheresoever they liked. She did not understand him, did not

even hear him, but simply nodded her head, promising that she would not

move, and then such tender faith again took possession of her that her

eyes, fixed on the white statue of the Virgin, filled with tears.

When M. de Guersaint had joined Pierre, who had remained a short distance

off, he gave him the following explanation. "My dear fellow," he said,

"it's a matter of conscience; I formally promised the coachman who drove

us to Gavarnie that I would see his master and tell him the real cause of

our delay. You know whom I mean--the hairdresser on the Place du

Marcadal. And, besides, I want to get shaved."

Pierre, who felt uneasy at this proposal, had to give way in face of the

promise that they would be back within a quarter of an hour. Only, as the

distance seemed long, he on his side insisted on taking a trap which was

standing at the bottom of the Plateau de la Merlasse. It was a sort of

greenish cabriolet, and its driver, a fat fellow of about thirty, with

the usual Basque cap on his head, was smoking a cigarette whilst waiting

to be hired. Perched sideways on the seat with his knees wide apart, he

drove them on with the tranquil indifference of a well-fed man who

considers himself the master of the street.

"We will keep you," said Pierre as he alighted, when they had reached the

Place 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 laugh

with a strong, dishevelled servant-girl who was washing a dog in the

basin of the neighbouring fountain.

Cazaban, as it happened, was just then on the threshold of his shop, the

lofty 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 he

delighted to parade in this manner, standing between his two windows,

which pots of pomatum and bottles of perfumery decorated with bright

shades 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 the

man who had driven him to Gavarnie, he showed himself well disposed. Of

course it was not the man's fault; he could not prevent wheels coming to

pieces, or storms falling. So long as the travellers did not complain all

was 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 see

us again; we don't ask anything better," said Cazaban; and, on the

architect seating himself in one of the arm-chairs and asking to be

shaved, he began to bustle about.

His assistant was still absent, running errands for the pilgrims whom he

lodged, a whole family, who were taking a case of chaplets, plaster

Virgins, and framed engravings away with them. You heard a confused

tramping of feet and violent bursts of conversation coming from the first

floor, all the helter-skelter of people whom the approaching departure

and the packing of purchases lying hither and thither drove almost crazy.

In the adjoining dining-room, the door of which had remained open, two

children were draining the dregs of some cups of chocolate which stood

about amidst the disorder of the breakfast service. The whole of the

house had been let, entirely given over, and now had come the last hours

of this invasion which compelled the hairdresser and his wife to seek

refuge in the narrow cellar, where they slept on a small camp-bed.

While Cazaban was rubbing M. de Guersaint's cheeks with soap-suds, the

architect questioned him. "Well, are you satisfied with the season?"

"Certainly, monsieur, I can't complain. As you hear, my travellers are

leaving to-day, but I am expecting others to-morrow morning; barely

sufficient time for a sweep out. It will be the same up to October."

Then, as Pierre remained standing, walking about the shop and looking at

the 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, the

hairdresser, whose tongue was ever itching to talk, continued: "Oh! as

for myself, I am always busy, my house is renowned for the cleanliness of

the 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; then

again pausing in his work he suddenly declared with a cry, wrung from him

by 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 and

talked and talked again. His big eyes rolled in his long face with

prominent cheek-bones and sunburnt complexion sprinkled with red, while

the whole of his nervous little body continued on the jump, agitated by

his growing exuberance of speech and gesture. He returned to his former

indictment, and enumerated all the many grievances that the old town had

against the Fathers. The hotel-keepers complained; the dealers in

religious fancy articles did not take half the amount they ought to have

realised; and, finally, the new town monopolised both the pilgrims and

the cash; there was now no possibility for anyone but the keepers of the

lodging-houses, hotels, and shops open in the neighbourhood of the Grotto

to make any money whatever. It was a merciless struggle, a deadly

hostility increasing from day to day, the old city losing a little of its

life each season, and assuredly destined to disappear,--to be choked,

assassinated, by the young town. Ah! their dirty Grotto! He would rather

have his feet cut off than tread there. Wasn't it heart-rending, that

knick-knack shop which they had stuck beside it? A shameful thing, at

which a bishop had shown himself so indignant that it was said he had

written to the Pope! He, Cazaban, who flattered himself with being a

freethinker and a Republican of the old days, who already under the

Empire had voted for the Opposition candidates, assuredly had the right

to declare that he did not believe in their dirty Grotto, and that he did

not care a fig for it!

"Look here, monsieur," he continued; "I am going to tell you a fact. My

brother belongs to the municipal council, and it's through him that I

know it. I must tell you first of all that we now have a Republican

municipal council, which is much worried by the demoralisation of the

town. You can no longer go out at night without meeting girls in the

streets--you know, those candle hawkers! They gad about with the drivers

who come here when the season commences, and swell the suspicious

floating population which comes no one knows whence. And I must also

explain to you the position of the Fathers towards the town. When they

purchased the land at the Grotto they signed an agreement by which they

undertook not to engage in any business there. Well, they have opened a

shop in spite of their signature. Is not that an unfair rivalry, unworthy

of honest people? So the new council decided on sending them a deputation