"O Lord, son of David, heal our sick!"
"O Lord, son of David, heal our sick!"
Berthaud had twice been obliged to dash forward to prevent the cords from
giving way under the unconscious pressure of the crowd. Baron Suire, in
despair, kept on making signs, begging someone to come to his assistance;
for the Grotto was now invaded, and the march past had become the mere
trampling of a flock rushing to its passion. In vain did Gerard again
leave Raymonde and post himself at the entrance gate of the iron railing,
so as to carry out the orders, which were to admit the pilgrims by tens.
He was hustled and swept aside, while with feverish excitement everybody
rushed in, passing like a torrent between the flaring candles, throwing
bouquets and letters to the Virgin, and kissing the rock, which the
pressure of millions of inflamed lips had polished. It was faith run
wild, the great power that nothing henceforth could stop.
And now, whilst Gerard stood there, hemmed in against the iron railing,
he heard two countrywomen, whom the advance was bearing onward, raise
loud exclamations at sight of the sufferers lying on the stretchers
before them. One of them was so greatly impressed by the pallid face of
Brother Isidore, whose large dilated eyes were still fixed on the statue
of the Virgin, that she crossed herself, and, overcome by devout
admiration, murmured: "Oh! look at that one; see how he is praying with
his whole heart, and how he gazes on Our Lady of Lourdes!"
The other peasant woman thereupon replied "Oh! she will certainly cure
him, he is so beautiful!"
Indeed, as the dead man lay there, his eyes still fixedly staring whilst
he continued his prayer of love and faith, his appearance touched every
heart.
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