And so, /mon Dieu/, little by little all
this has accumulated here by itself, contrary to one's own desire."
"It has become a lumber-room," concluded Pierre.
"Oh no! hardly that. An unoccupied room, and yet in truth, if you insist
on it, it is a lumber-room!"
His uneasiness was increasing, mingled with a little shame. Doctor
Chassaigne remained silent and did not interfere; but he smiled, and was
visibly delighted at his companion's revolt against human ingratitude.
Pierre, unable to restrain himself, now continued: "You must excuse me,
Monsieur l'Abbe, if I insist. But just reflect that you owe everything to
Bernadette; but for her Lourdes would still be one of the least known
towns of France. And really it seems to me that out of mere gratitude the
parish ought to have transformed this wretched room into a chapel."
"Oh! a chapel!" interrupted the curate. "It is only a question of a human
creature: the Church could not make her an object of worship."
"Well, we won't say a chapel, then; but at all events there ought to be
some lights and flowers--bouquets of roses constantly renewed by the
piety of the inhabitants and the pilgrims. In a word, I should like some
little show of affection--a touching souvenir, a picture of
Bernadette--something that would delicately indicate that she deserves to
have a place in all hearts. This forgetfulness and desertion are
shocking. It is monstrous that so much dirt should have been allowed to
accumulate!"
The curate, a poor, thoughtless, nervous man, at once adopted Pierre's
views: "In reality, you are a thousand times right," said he; "but I
myself have no power, I can do nothing.
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