She alone did not behold the
triumph of the new faith, whose author she had been. You say that she
dreamt it all. Well, at all events, what a beautiful dream it was, a
dream which has stirred the whole world, and from which she, dear girl,
never awakened!"
They halted and sat down for a moment on a rock beside the road, before
returning to the town. In front of them the Gave, deep at this point of
its course, was rolling blue waters tinged with dark moire-like
reflections, whilst, farther on, rushing hurriedly over a bed of large
stones, the stream became so much foam, a white froth, light like snow.
Amidst the gold raining from the sun, a fresh breeze came down from the
mountains.
Whilst listening to that story of how Bernadette had been exploited and
suppressed, Pierre had simply found in it all a fresh motive for revolt;
and, with his eyes fixed on the ground, he began to think of the
injustice of nature, of that law which wills that the strong should
devour the weak. Then, all at once raising his head, he inquired: "And
did you also know Abbe Peyramale?"
The doctor's eyes brightened once more, and he eagerly replied:
"Certainly I did! He was an upright, energetic man, a saint, an apostle.
He and Bernadette were the great makers of Our Lady of Lourdes. Like her,
he endured frightful sufferings, and, like her, he died from them. Those
who do not know his story can know nothing, understand nothing, of the
drama enacted here."
Thereupon he related that story at length.
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