第 8 页

to escape for a moment from that cage of wretchedness where their limbs

had been quite numbed by the seven hours' journey which they had so far

gone. Madame Maze had at once drawn apart, straying with melancholy face

to the far end of the platform, where she found herself all alone; Madame

Vetu, stupefied by her sufferings, had found sufficient strength to take

a few steps, and sit down on a bench, in the full sunlight, where she did

not even feel the burning heat; whilst Elise Rouquet, who had had the

decency to cover her face with a black wrap, and was consumed by a desire

for fresh water, went hither and thither in search of a drinking

fountain. And meantime Madame Vincent, walking slowly, carried her little

Rose about in her arms, trying to smile at her, and to cheer her by

showing her some gaudily coloured picture bills, which the child gravely

gazed at, but did not see.

Pierre had the greatest possible difficulty in making his way through the

crowd inundating the platform. No effort of imagination could enable one

to picture the living torrent of ailing and healthy beings which the

train had here set down--a mob of more than a thousand persons just

emerging from suffocation, and bustling, hurrying hither and thither.

Each carriage had contributed its share of wretchedness, like some

hospital ward suddenly evacuated; and it was now possible to form an idea

of the frightful amount of suffering which this terrible white train

carried along with it, this train which disseminated a legend of horror

wheresoever it passed. Some infirm sufferers were dragging themselves

about, others were being carried, and many remained in a heap on the

platform. There were sudden pushes, violent calls, innumerable displays

of distracted eagerness to reach the refreshment-room and the _buvette_.

Each and all made haste, going wheresoever their wants called them. This

stoppage of half an hour's duration, the only stoppage there would be

before reaching Lourdes, was, after all, such a short one. And the only

gay note, amidst all the black cassocks and the threadbare garments of

the poor, never of any precise shade of colour, was supplied by the

smiling whiteness of the Little Sisters of the Assumption, all bright and

active in their snowy coifs, wimples, and aprons.

When Pierre at last reached the cantine van near the middle of the train,

he found it already besieged. There was here a petroleum stove, with a

small supply of cooking utensils. The broth prepared from concentrated

meat-extract was being warmed in wrought-iron pans, whilst the preserved

milk in tins was diluted and supplied as occasion required. There were

some other provisions, such as biscuits, fruit, and chocolate, on a few

shelves. But Sister Saint-Francois, to whom the service was entrusted, a

short, stout woman of five-and-forty, with a good-natured fresh-coloured

face, was somewhat losing her head in the presence of all the hands so

eagerly stretched towards her. Whilst continuing her distribution, she

lent ear to Pierre, as he called the doctor, who with his travelling

pharmacy occupied another corner of the van. Then, when the young priest

began to explain matters, speaking of the poor unknown man who was dying,

a sudden desire came to her to go and see him, and she summoned another

Sister to take her place.

"Oh! I wished to ask you, Sister, for some broth for a passenger who is

ill," said Pierre, at that moment turning towards her.

"Very well, Monsieur l'Abbe, I will bring some. Go on in front."

The doctor and the abbe went off in all haste, rapidly questioning and

answering one another, whilst behind them followed Sister Saint-Francois,

carrying the bowl of broth with all possible caution amidst the jostling

of the crowd. The doctor was a dark-complexioned man of eight-and-twenty,

robust and extremely handsome, with the head of a young Roman emperor,

such as may still be occasionally met with in the sunburnt land of

Provence. As soon as Sister Hyacinthe caught sight of him, she raised an

exclamation of surprise: "What! Monsieur Ferrand, is it you?" Indeed,

they both seemed amazed at meeting in this manner.

It is, however, the courageous mission of the Sisters of the Assumption

to tend the ailing poor, those who lie in agony in their humble garrets,

and cannot pay for nursing; and thus these good women spend their lives

among the wretched, installing themselves beside the sufferer's pallet in

his tiny lodging, and ministering to every want, attending alike to

cooking and cleaning, and living there as servants and relatives, until

either cure or death supervenes. And it was in this wise that Sister

Hyacinthe, young as she was, with her milky face, and her blue eyes which

ever laughed, had installed herself one day in the abode of this young

fellow, Ferrand, then a medical student, prostrated by typhoid fever, and

so desperately poor that he lived in a kind of loft reached by a ladder,

in the Rue du Four. And from that moment she had not stirred from his

side, but had remained with him until she cured him, with the passion of

one who lived only for others, one who when an infant had been found in a

church porch, and who had no other family than that of those who

suffered, to whom she devoted herself with all her ardently affectionate

nature. And what a delightful month, what exquisite comradeship, fraught

with the pure fraternity of suffering, had followed! When he called her

"Sister," it was really to a sister that he was speaking. And she was a

mother also, a mother who helped him to rise, and who put him to bed as

though he were her child, without aught springing up between them save

supreme pity, the divine, gentle compassion of charity. She ever showed

herself gay, sexless, devoid of any instinct excepting that which

prompted her to assuage and to console. And he worshipped her, venerated

her, and had retained of her the most chaste and passionate of

recollections.

"O Sister Hyacinthe!" he murmured in delight.

Chance alone had brought them face to face again, for Ferrand was not a

believer, and if he found himself in that train it was simply because he

had at the last moment consented to take the place of a friend who was

suddenly prevented from coming. For nearly a twelvemonth he had been a

house-surgeon at the Hospital of La Pitie. However, this journey to

Lourdes, in such peculiar circumstances, greatly interested him.

The joy of the meeting was making them forget the ailing stranger. And so

the Sister resumed: "You see, Monsieur Ferrand, it is for this man that

we want you. At one moment we thought him dead. Ever since we passed

Amboise he has been filling us with fear, and I have just sent for the

Holy Oils. Do you find him so very low? Could you not revive him a

little?"

The doctor was already examining the man, and thereupon the sufferers who

had remained in the carriage became greatly interested and began to look.

Marie, to whom Sister Saint-Francois had given the bowl of broth, was

holding it with such an unsteady hand that Pierre had to take it from

her, and endeavour to make her drink; but she could not swallow, and she

left the broth scarce tasted, fixing her eyes upon the man waiting to see

what would happen like one whose own existence is at stake.

"Tell me," again asked Sister Hyacinthe, "how do you find him? What is

his illness?"

"What is his illness!" muttered Ferrand; "he has every illness."

Then, drawing a little phial from his pocket, he endeavoured to introduce

a few drops of the contents between the sufferer's clenched teeth. The

man heaved a sigh, raised his eyelids and let them fall again; that was

all, he gave no other sign of life.

Sister Hyacinthe, usually so calm and composed, so little accustomed to

despair, became impatient.

"But it is terrible," said she, "and Sister Claire des Anges does not

come back! Yet I told her plainly enough where she would find Father

Massias's carriage. _Mon Dieu!_ what will become of us?"

Sister Saint-Francois, seeing that she could render no help, was now

about to return to the cantine van. Before doing so, however, she

inquired if the man were not simply dying of hunger; for such cases

presented themselves, and indeed she had only come to the compartment

with the view of offering some of her provisions. At last, as she went

off, she promised that she would make Sister Claire des Anges hasten her

return should she happen to meet her; and she had not gone twenty yards

when she turned round and waved her arm to call attention to her

colleague, who with discreet short steps was coming back alone.

Leaning out of the window, Sister Hyacinthe kept on calling to her, "Make

haste, make haste! Well, and where is Father Massias?"

"He isn't there."

"What! not there?"

"No. I went as fast as I could, but with all these people about it was

not possible to get there quickly. When I reached the carriage Father

Massias had already alighted, and gone out of the station, no doubt."

She thereupon explained, that according to what she had heard, Father

Massias and the priest of Sainte-Radegonde had some appointment together.

In other years the national pilgrimage halted at Poitiers for

four-and-twenty hours, and after those who were ill had been placed in

the town hospital the others went in procession to Sainte-Radegonde.*

That year, however, there was some obstacle to this course being

followed, so the train was going straight on to Lourdes; and Father

Massias was certainly with his friend the priest, talking with him on

some matter of importance.

* The church of Sainte-Radegonde, built by the saint of that name

in the sixth century, is famous throughout Poitou. In the crypt

between the tombs of Ste. Agnes and St. Disciole is that of Ste.

Radegonde herself, but it now only contains some particles of her

remains, as the greater portion was burnt by the Huguenots in

1562. On a previous occasion (1412) the tomb had been violated by

Jean, Duc de Berry, who wished to remove both the saint's head

and her two rings. Whilst he was making the attempt, however, the

skeleton is said to have withdrawn its hand so that he might not

possess himself of the rings. A greater curiosity which the church

contains is a footprint on a stone slab, said to have been left

by Christ when He appeared to Ste. Radegonde in her cell. This

attracts pilgrims from many parts.--Trans.

"They promised to tell him and send him here with the Holy Oils as soon

as they found him," added Sister Claire.

However, this was quite a disaster for Sister Hyacinthe. Since Science

was powerless, perhaps the Holy Oils would have brought the sufferer some

relief. She had often seen that happen.

"O Sister, Sister, how worried I am!" she said to her companion. "Do you

know, I wish you would go back and watch for Father Massias and bring him

to me as soon as you see him. It would be so kind of you to do so!"

"Yes, Sister," compliantly answered Sister Claire des Anges, and off she

went again with that grave, mysterious air of hers, wending her way

through the crowd like a gliding shadow.

Ferrand, meantime, was still looking at the man, sorely distressed at his

inability to please Sister Hyacinthe by reviving him. And as he made a

gesture expressive of his powerlessness she again raised her voice

entreatingly: "Stay with me, Monsieur Ferrand, pray stay," she said.

"Wait till Father Massias comes--I shall be a little more at ease with

you here."

He remained and helped her to raise the man, who was slipping down upon

the seat. Then, taking a linen cloth, she wiped the poor fellow's face

which a dense perspiration was continually covering. And the spell of

waiting continued amid the uneasiness of the patients who had remained in

the carriage, and the curiosity of the folks who had begun to assemble on

the platform in front of the compartment.

All at once however a girl hastily pushed the crowd aside, and, mounting

on the footboard, addressed herself to Madame de Jonquiere: "What is the

matter, mamma?" she said. "They are waiting for you in the

refreshment-room."

It was Raymonde de Jonquiere, who, already somewhat ripe for her

four-and-twenty years, was remarkably like her mother, being very dark,

with a pronounced nose, large mouth, and full, pleasant-looking face.

"But, my dear, you can see for yourself. I can't leave this poor woman,"

replied the lady-hospitaller; and thereupon she pointed to La Grivotte,

who had been attacked by a fit of coughing which shook her frightfully.

"Oh, how annoying, mamma!" retorted Raymonde, "Madame Desagneaux and

Madame Volmar were looking forward with so much pleasure to this little

lunch together."

"Well, it can't be helped, my dear. At all events, you can begin without

waiting for me. Tell the ladies that I will come and join them as soon as

I can." Then, an idea occurring to her, Madame de Jonquiere added: "Wait

a moment, the doctor is here. I will try to get him to take charge of my

patient. Go back, I will follow you. As you can guess, I am dying of

hunger."

Raymonde briskly returned to the refreshment-room whilst her mother

begged Ferrand to come into her compartment to see if he could do

something to relieve La Grivotte. At Marthe's request he had already

examined Brother Isidore, whose moaning never ceased; and with a

sorrowful gesture he had again confessed his powerlessness. However, he

hastened to comply with Madame de Jonquiere's appeal, and raised the

consumptive woman to a sitting posture in the hope of thus stopping her

cough, which indeed gradually ceased. And then he helped the

lady-hospitaller to make her swallow a spoonful of some soothing draught.

The doctor's presence in the carriage was still causing a stir among the

ailing ones. M. Sabathier, who was slowly eating the grapes which his