And what intense love at once burst forth
all around her! What blind confidence was displayed in her mission, what
immense consolation and hope came to human hearts on the very morrow of
the first miracles! A long cry of relief had greeted the cure of old
Bourriette recovering his sight, and of little Justin Bouhohorts coming
to life again in the icy water of the spring. At last, then, the Blessed
Virgin was intervening in favour of those who despaired, forcing that
unkind mother, Nature, to be just and charitable. This was divine
omnipotence returning to reign on earth, sweeping the laws of the world
aside in order to work the happiness of the suffering and the poor. The
miracles multiplied, blazed forth, from day to day more and more
extraordinary, like unimpeachable proof of Bernadette's veracity. And she
was, indeed, the rose of the divine garden, whose deeds shed perfume, the
rose who beholds all the other flowers of grace and salvation spring into
being around her.
Pierre had reached this point of his story, and was again enumerating the
miracles, on the point of recounting the prodigious triumph of the
Grotto, when Sister Hyacinthe, awaking with a start from the ecstasy into
which the narrative had plunged her, hastily rose to her feet. "Really,
really," said she, "there is no sense in it. It will soon be eleven
o'clock."
This was true. They had left Morceux behind them, and would now soon be
at Mont de Marsan. So Sister Hyacinthe clapped her hands once more, and
added: "Silence, my children, silence!"
This time they did not dare to rebel, for they felt she was in the right;
they were unreasonable.
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