And then came the last and seemingly endless half-hour of the journey, in
company with that wretched corpse. Two big tears had rolled down Sister
Hyacinthe's cheeks, and with her hands joined she had begun to pray. The
whole carriage shuddered with terror at sight of that terrible companion
who was being taken, too late alas! to the Blessed Virgin.
Hope, however, proved stronger than sorrow or pain, and although all the
sufferings there assembled awoke and grew again, irritated by
overwhelming weariness, a song of joy nevertheless proclaimed the
sufferers' triumphal entry into the Land of Miracles. Amidst the tears
which their pains drew from them, the exasperated and howling sick began
to chant the "Ave maris Stella" with a growing clamour in which
lamentation finally turned into cries of hope.
Marie had again taken Pierre's hand between her little feverish fingers.
"Oh, /mon Dieu!/" said she, "to think that poor man is dead, and I feared
so much that it was I who would die before arriving. And we are
there--there at last!"
The priest was trembling with intense emotion. "It means that you are to
be cured, Marie," he replied, "and that I myself shall be cured if you
pray for me--"
The engine was now whistling in a yet louder key in the depths of the
bluish darkness. They were nearing their destination. The lights of
Lourdes already shone out on the horizon. Then the whole train again sang
a canticle--the rhymed story of Bernadette, that endless ballad of six
times ten couplets, in which the Angelic Salutation ever returns as a
refrain, all besetting and distracting, opening to the human mind the
portals of the heaven of ecstasy:--
"It was the hour for ev'ning pray'r;
Soft bells chimed on the chilly air.
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