His gouty foot had been
paining him more acutely since the morning, so that it required great
courage on his part to remain thus standing and smiling. The increasing
exaltation of the crowd made him happy, however; he foresaw prodigies and
dazzling cures which would redound to the glory of Mary and Jesus.
Having ascended the pulpit, Father Massias did not at once speak. He
seemed, very tall, thin, and pale, with an ascetic face, elongated the
more by his discoloured beard. His eyes sparkled, and his large eloquent
mouth protruded passionately.
"Lord, save us, for we perish!" he suddenly cried; and in a fever, which
increased minute by minute, the transported crowd repeated: "Lord, save
us, for we perish!"
Then he opened his arms and again launched forth his flaming cry, as if
he had torn it from his glowing heart: "Lord, if it be Thy will, Thou
canst heal me!"
"Lord, if it be Thy will, Thou canst heal me!"
"Lord, I am not worthy that Thou shouldst enter under my roof, but only
say the word, and I shall be healed!"
"Lord, I am not worthy that Thou shouldst enter under my roof, but only
say the word, and I shall be healed!"
Marthe, Brother Isidore's sister, had now begun to talk in a whisper to
Madame Sabathier, near whom she had at last seated herself. They had
formed an acquaintance at the hospital; and, drawn together by so much
suffering, the servant had familiarly confided to the /bourgeoise/ how
anxious she felt about her brother; for she could plainly see that he had
very little breath left in him.
Pages:
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508