Their glances never left him, all their heads were stretched
towards him, fantastically illumined by the flickering light of the
lamps. And it was not only the sick who displayed this interest; the ten
women occupying the compartment at the far end of the carriage had also
become impassioned, and, happy at not missing a single word, turned their
poor ugly faces now beautified by naive faith.
"No, I cannot!" Sister Hyacinthe at first declared; "the rules are very
strict--you must be silent."
However, she weakened, she herself feeling so interested in the tale that
she could detect her heart beating under her stomacher. Then Marie again
repeated her request in an entreating tone; whilst her father, M. de
Guersaint, who had listened like one hugely amused, declared that they
would all fall ill if the story were not continued. And thereupon, seeing
Madame de Jonquiere smile with an indulgent air, Sister Hyacinthe ended
by consenting.
"Well, then," said she, "I will allow you another short quarter of an
hour; but only a short quarter of an hour, mind. That is understood, is
it not? For I should otherwise be in fault."
Pierre had waited quietly without attempting to intervene. And he resumed
his narrative in the same penetrating voice as before, a voice in which
his own doubts were softened by pity for those who suffer and who hope.
The scene of the story was now transferred to Lourdes, to the Rue des
Petits Fosses, a narrow, tortuous, mournful street taking a downward
course between humble houses and roughly plastered dead walls.
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