And they
still remained silent, walking on with an equal step, each, on his own
side, absorbed in his sorrows.
"And Bernadette," Pierre suddenly inquired; "did you know her?"
The doctor raised his head. "Bernadette? Yes, yes," said he. "I saw her
once--afterwards." He relapsed into silence for a moment, and then began
chatting: "In 1858, you know, at the time of the apparitions, I was
thirty years of age. I was in Paris, still young in my profession, and
opposed to all supernatural notions, so that I had no idea of returning
to my native mountains to see a girl suffering from hallucinations. Five
or six years later, however, some time about 1864, I passed through
Lourdes, and was inquisitive enough to pay Bernadette a visit. She was
then still at the asylum with the Sisters of Nevers."
Pierre remembered that one of the reasons of his journey had been his
desire to complete his inquiry respecting Bernadette. And who could tell
if grace might not come to him from that humble, lovable girl, on the day
when he should be convinced that she had indeed fulfilled a mission of
divine love and forgiveness? For this consummation to ensue it would
perhaps suffice that he should know her better and learn to feel that she
was really the saint, the chosen one, as others believed her to have
been.
"Tell me about her, I pray you," he said; "tell me all you know of her."
A faint smile curved the doctor's lips. He understood, and would have
greatly liked to calm and comfort the young priest whose soul was so
grievously tortured by doubt.
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