And
soon the circle formed a nucleus, the nucleus of a nebula, so to say,
around which the endless riband of fire began to coil itself. And the
brasier grew larger and larger--there was first a pool, then a lake of
light. The whole vast Place du Rosaire changed at last into a burning
ocean, rolling its little sparkling wavelets with the dizzy motion of a
whirlpool that never rested. A reflection like that of dawn whitened the
Basilica; while the rest of the horizon faded into deep obscurity, amidst
which you only saw a few stray tapers journeying alone, like glowworms
seeking their way with the help of their little lights. However, a
straggling rear-guard of the procession must have climbed the Calvary
height, for up there, against the sky, some moving stars could also be
seen. Eventually the moment came when the last tapers appeared down
below, marched round the lawns, flowed away, and were merged in the sea
of flame. Thirty thousand tapers were burning there, still and ever
revolving, quickening their sparkles under the vast calm heavens where
the planets had grown pale. A luminous glow ascended in company with the
strains of the canticle which never ceased. And the roar of voices
incessantly repeating the refrain of "Ave, ave, ave Maria!" was like the
very crackling of those hearts of fire which were burning away in prayers
in order that souls might be saved.
The candles had just been extinguished, one by one, and the night was
falling again, paramount, densely black, and extremely mild, when Pierre
and Marie perceived that they were still there, hand in hand, hidden away
among the trees.
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