It was there that the poor child had begun her dream, one cold
night, lying in bed between her two sisters, and seized with a fit of her
ailment while the whole family was fast asleep. It was thence, too, that
she had set out, unconsciously carrying along with her that dream, which
was again to be born within her in the broad daylight and to flower so
prettily in a vision such as those of the legends. And no one now
followed in her footsteps. The manger was forgotten, and left in
darkness--that manger where had germed the little humble seed which over
yonder was now yielding such prodigious harvests, reaped by the workmen
of the last hour amidst the sovereign pomp of ceremonies.
Pierre, whom the great human emotion of the story moved to tears, at last
summed up his thoughts in three words, saying in a low voice, "It is
Bethlehem."
"Yes," remarked Doctor Chassaigne, in his turn, "it is the wretched
lodging, the chance refuge, where new religions are born of suffering and
pity. And at times I ask myself if all is not better thus: if it is not
better that this room should remain in its actual state of wretchedness
and abandonment. It seems to me that Bernadette has nothing to lose by
it, for I love her all the more when I come to spend an hour here."
He again became silent, and then made a gesture of revolt: "But no, no! I
cannot forgive it--this ingratitude sets me beside myself. I told you I
was convinced that Bernadette had freely gone to cloister herself at
Nevers.
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