And
in the same way as Madame Vincent had burst out sobbing on perceiving the
leather strap which her little girl had touched, so she burst into joy at
the sight of this scratch, which reminded her of her long martyrdom in
this same carriage, all the abomination which had now disappeared,
vanished like a nightmare. "To think that four days have scarcely gone
by," she said; "I was lying there, I could not stir, and now, now I come
and go, and feel so comfortable!"
Pierre and M. de Guersaint were smiling at her; and M. Sabathier, who had
heard her, slowly said: "It is quite true. We leave a little of ourselves
in things, a little of our sufferings and our hopes, and when we find
them again they speak to us, and once more tell us the things which
sadden us or make us gay."
He had remained in his corner silent, with an air of resignation, ever
since their departure from Lourdes. Even his wife whilst wrapping up his
legs had only been able to obtain sundry shakes of the head from him in
response to her inquiries whether he was suffering. In point of fact he
was not suffering, but extreme dejection was overcoming him.
"Thus for my own part," he continued, "during our long journey from Paris
I tried to divert my thoughts by counting the bands in the roofing up
there. There were thirteen from the lamp to the door. Well, I have just
been counting them again, and naturally enough there are still thirteen.
It's like that brass knob beside me. You can't imagine what dreams I had
whilst I watched it shining at night-time when Monsieur l'Abbe was
reading the story of Bernadette to us.
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