Then, without any apparent
reason, his thoughts flew away to the days of his childhood, and his
brother Guillaume's face rose before him with extreme distinctness. He
had not seen him since their mother's death. He merely knew that he led a
very secluded life, occupying himself with scientific matters, in a
little house in which he had buried himself with a mistress and two big
dogs; and he would have known nothing more about him, but for having
recently read his name in a newspaper in connection with some
revolutionary attempt. It was stated that he was passionately devoting
himself to the study of explosives, and in constant intercourse with the
leaders of the most advanced parties. Why, however, should Guillaume
appear to him in this wise, in this ecstatic spot, amidst the mystical
light of the tapers,--appear to him, moreover, such as he had formerly
known him, so good, affectionate, and brotherly, overflowing with charity
for every affliction! The thought haunted him for a moment, and filled
him with painful regret for that brotherliness now dead and gone. Then,
with hardly a moment's pause, his mind reverted to himself, and he
realised that he might stubbornly remain there for hours without
regaining faith. Nevertheless, he felt a sort of tremor pass through him,
a final hope, a feeling that if the Blessed Virgin should perform the
great miracle of curing Marie, he would at last believe. It was like a
final delay which he allowed himself, an appointment with Faith for that
very day, at four o'clock in the afternoon, when, according to what the
girl had told him, the Blessed Sacrament would pass by.
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