Whilst M. Sabathier was gaily shrugging his shoulders as though he had a
child to deal with, Abbe Judaine, who had at last secured his banner,
came by and stopped for a moment in order that he might gently scold the
Commander, with whom he also was well acquainted.
"Don't blaspheme, my dear friend," he said. "It is an offence against God
to refuse life and to treat health with contempt. If you yourself had
listened to me, you would have asked the Blessed Virgin to cure your leg
before now."
At this the Commander became angry. "My leg! The Virgin can do nothing to
it! I'm quite at my ease. May death come and may it all be over forever!
When the time comes to die you turn your face to the wall and you
die--it's simple enough."
The old priest interrupted him, however. Pointing to Marie, who was lying
on her box listening to them, he exclaimed: "You tell all our sick to go
home and die--even mademoiselle, eh? She who is full of youth and wishes
to live."
Marie's eyes were wide open, burning with the ardent desire which she
felt to /be/, to enjoy her share of the vast world; and the Commander,
who had drawn near, gazed upon her, suddenly seized with deep emotion
which made his voice tremble. "If mademoiselle gets well," he said, "I
will wish her another miracle, that she be happy."
Then he went off, dragging his foot and tapping the flagstones with the
ferrule of his stout stick as he continued wending his way, like an angry
philosopher among the suffering pilgrims.
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