Omaha Daily Bee Newspaper, August 12, 1894, Page 10

JAMES 60"-‘"4 = —30on enyerr, RESUME OF LOURDES. Brief Synopsis of the Portion of Z Story ws Been Publ TRST DAY, The opening scene ot in serial form in Sun- of the “'white wick pil ¢ the pilgrims 18 for oY CHAPTER 1 Marie do Guers ears, has been y_her father an CHAPTER 11 of a chemist wi son lived i Living next them were M. aint and his family. Littls Maris de Guersaint and Plerre played toxether, fnadly fell in love with each other as they grew up. Marle received an injury Which rec Bulted In mearly fotal paralysis. As she could never be his wife, Plerre became a priest CHAPTER 111, -The suffering in the train 18 i tense when it Poitiers half an hour for_lunch. CHAPTER 1V of the cure @ stops at phie Coutenu tells the story o her n the water of Lou he Abbe reads the b excribes the visions In rolls fnto the station at dles, Bernadette, nnd rotto. As the train urdes an unknown ma OND DAY CHAPT! fvid picture fs glven of the Jids are landed und con- veyed to the CHAPTER spital Is grently over- Procession 1o the grotto is asks the VSt congrega~ great miracle, as the body of Who died in the train is to be {m- the man e pool in hopes that life will be mersed in U restored. .CHAPTER 111, —The Abbe meets his old friend, Dr. Chassalgne. The crowd forces the Auhie to the pool. The dead man &s brought in and {m- wersed. No miracle occurs. On koing out the Abbe finds that' Marie has been bathed without effect. CHAPTER the Abbe to Grivotte, who consumption, ¢ 1V.—Dr. the Bu had be mes rushing igne _accompanies Aifications. La 3 stages of in, shouting, “I Marle, who I The Abbe visit invalids, con- R losing her faith. He reads to th tinuing the story of Bernadette. THIRD DAY. Pierre dlscovers that Mme. Vol- CHAPTER I has come to Lourdes to mar, & devout pilgrim, meet her lover, CHAPTER 11—, Guersaint 0. 1 Taymonde snd M. de Peyrelongue, They visit fnterest. CHAPTER 1 ccompanied by her father and P the magnificent torehlight CHAI grotto to ren Suire shows CHAPTER V. interview with efforts of the Abbe at Lourdes, orre takes Marle to the throughout the night. Baron Aeulous Spring. aigne teils about his bes the eyramale to build a church FOURTH DAY. CHAPTER 1-—The death of Mme. wividly portrayed. CHAPTER 11 shown during (h Brother Tuld CHAPTER 11l.—As Plerre stands Marie's cart he remembers that one of the hysiclans called 1n consuliation said she could be cured in a porfectly natural way. Suddenly Marle stands up in her cart. She walks to the Bureau, and her cure Is put on recol CHAPTER 1V.—Marie drags her cart in the procession. Pierre has lost his faith, and by his Yows has lost the right (o love Marie now that #he can be a wile. CHAPTER V.—Dr. Chassafgme takes the Abbe to Bernadetto's room. He also takes him to the church that the Abbe Peyramale started to build. The ambitions and dreams of the Abbe Peyramale are graphically described. FIETH DAY, CHAPTER L—The abbe is summoned to find already dead an old lady whose fortune goes to Who has been brought to Lourdss rds the old lady's death as a divine recompens CHAPTER 11.—Marfe i3 annoyed by the atten- tion her cure has attracted. With Plerre and her father she makes a final visit to the grotto. CHAPTER HI.—Amid great confusion tho pil- board the white train to take them back o With the exception of Marie, the invalids in about the same condition as when they arrived. The clergy, however, are enthusi- astic T thelr assertions’ of the miracles that bave been wrought. One lady who came to Lourdes to pray for the reformation of an un- faithful husband Is filled with joy that he has come to go home with her. She declares it to be the greatest miracle o all—the healing ~of & cart. Vetu 1s There fs great religious fervor services, In the midst of it dies, bestde FIFTH DAY—Chapter IV. The car rolled, rolled on through the black night. Each one made hls arrange- ments, and stretched out to sleep more com- fortably. Mme. Vincent was compelled to lle down on the seat. A pillow was glven to her, and having become as docile as a child and stupld, she slept in a nightmare's tor- por while great, silent tears kept rolling down her closed eyes. Elise Rouquet also having an entire seat to herself, made ready to lie down on it, but, her face always turned to the mirror, she began by making an elaborate tollet for the night, tying over her head the black kerchief that she had used to cover her infirmity, and she looked to see if she were pretty with the swelling gone from her lip. And again Pierre was as- tonished to see that deformity nearly, If not absolutely cured; that monster's face that one could now examine without horror. He was again in a sea of uncertainty. Was it not even a real case of lupus? Was it some unknown species of ulcer of hysterical ori- gin? Or must one admit that certain forms of lupus not sufficlently studied, resulting from mal-nutrition of the skin, could be af- fected by a great mental shock? It was a miracle, unless in three wecks, in three months, or in three years it reappeared, as had La Grivotte's consumption. It was 10 o'clock and the whole car was asleep, when Lamothe was passed. Sister Hyacinthe, who had kept on her knees the ead of La Grivotte, could not get up. She contented herself by saying as a matter of form in a low voice in the grinding of the wheels: “Silence, silence, my children.” But something kept on moving at the bot- tom of a neigkboring compartment, a noise that annoyed her and that she finally under- stood. “Sophle, why do you keep kicking seat? You must go to slecp, my child.” “I am not kicking, sister. It is a key rolling under my shoe.” “What key? Hund it to me.” She examined it. It was a very poor, very old: key; blackened, made thin and smooth by usage, of which the ring bad been sol- dered and showed the break. All hands felt in their pocket, but nobody had lost a key. ™I found it In the corner,” resumed So- phie. “It probably belonged to the man. “What man?” asked the nun. Why, the man who died there. Ho hud already been forgotten. Sister Hyacinthe remembered. Yes, yes; it must cortainly have belonged to the man, for she d heard something fall while she was sponging his forehead. She turned the key over; she continued to look at if ¥ key in all its ugliness, a key henceforth uscless, that would never again open the uuknown lock somewhere in the great world. — Oue moment she thought of putting it in her pocket in a sort-of pity for the little plece of fron, so humble, so mysterious, all that re- mained of the & Then a devout thought came to her that she should not keep any- thing on this earth, and through the half- opened window she threw the key, that fell fnto the blackness of the night “‘Sophle, you must not pla: sloep, umed, *‘Come, dren, sil It 'was only after the short stop in Bor- deaux, at about half-past 11 o'clock, that sloep was resumed and overtaken by the en- tire car. Mme. de Jonquiere had been ua- ablo to longer struggle against it; her bhead rested against the wooden partition, and her faco was happy in her fatigue, The Saba- thier family slept as well, without a breath, while not 4 sound came from the other com- Enmenr the one that Sophle Couteau and ise Rouquet occupled, extended face to face a dull the you must come, my chil- on the seats, From time to time 1 groan was heard, a smothered sigh of sor- w or fright that escaped from the lips of the sleeping Mme. Vincent, as she was tor- tured by bad dreams, There remained with wide opened eyes only Sister Hyacinthe, very much worried over the condition of La Grivotte, who was still now, as though over- powered, breathing with an effort and With a continnous rattle, From one end to the other of this moving bedroom, shaken by the Jolts of the train moving with all steam on, the pilgrims and the invalds had given Mhamselves up; limbs were hanging and hends rolling under the lamps’ pale, dancing light At the end, in the compartment of the ten female pilgrims, was a sorry collection of wor, ugly feces, old and young, that sleep seemed to have suddenly struck after a hymn, with open mouths, And a great com- assion was due to these sad people, tired, crushed by five days of foolish hcpes and in- finite ecstasies, who would awaken on the morrow to the stern reality of existence. Then Plerre felt as though he were alone with Marie. She had not wished to stretch herself on the seat, saying that she had re- mained tos long lying during seven years, and he, to make room for M. de Guersaint, who from Bordeaux had resumed his deep sleep like a child’s, had gone to sit by he The light of the lamp annoyed her. He pulled the screen. They found themselves In the shade, a transparent, infinitely agreeable shade. At this cment the train must have been passing over a plain; it slid in the night as though flying forever, with a loud and regular noise of beating wings. Through the window that they had lowered came an exquisite freshness from the black flelds, stretching further than the eye could reach, without the little, lost light of even a vil- lage. Once more the past came before them, the little house in Neuilly, the kiss they had ex- changed near the flowering hedge, under the trees pierced by the sun. How long ago that already was, and how his whole life had been perfumed by it! Then came to him the bit- terness of the day when he became a priest. She was never destined to be a woman, and he had consented to be a man no longer, and it was to be their eternal misfortune, as na- ture in irony would restore her as a wife and a mother. Still, it he had retained faith, he would have found in it eternal consolation. But he had vainly tried everything to regain it; his trip to Lourdes, his efforts before the grotto, his hope, at one instant, that he would at last belleve, if Marie was miracu- lously cured; their total frremediable ruin when the announced cure had been scientifi- cally wrought. And their idol, &0 pure and s0 sorrowful, the long story of their tear- stained tenderness also passed before him. She, herself having discovered his sad secret, had’ gone to Lourdes to ask heaven for the miracle of his conversion. During the torchlight procession, when they had remained alone under the trees in the perfume of unseen roses, they had prayed for each other, lost in each other, with an ardent wish for mutual happiness. Befora the grotto again she had implored the Holy Virgin to forget her and to save him, if she could ob- tain but one favor from her divine Son. Then, cured, outside of herself, inspired by love and gratitude, carried by the rails with her wheeled chair up to the Basilica, she had thought that her prayer had been granted, she had cried to him her joy that both of them had been saved together. Ah! that lie, that le of affection and charity! The mis- take in which he had left her from that mo- ment was crushing his heart by its weight. It was the heavy stone that now walled him at the bottom of his voluntary tomb. He recalled the awful shock that had nearly killed him In the shadow of the crypt, his sobs, his brutal revolt at first, his wish to keep her for himself alone, to possess her as long as he knew her to be his own, all that rambling passion of his awakened virliity that had subsequently little by little been quieted to sleep again, drowned under the stream of his tears, and, not to destroy in her the divine lllusion, giving way to brotherly compassion, he had made that herolc vow to lie to her and it was proving agony. Plerre, in his reverle, trembled then. Wonld he always have the strength to keep that vow? AL the station, when he was waiting for her, had he not surprised in his heart an impatience, a jealous wish to leave that too well beloved Lourdes, in the vague hope that she would become his again at a distance? If he had mot been a priest then he would have married her. What rapture; what an existence of adorable happi- ness, to give himself up wholly to her, to take her entirely; to live again in the dear child that would be born! There was surely nothing divine without possession, life that is complete of itself and that reproduces. His dream then branched off; he saw himselt married and he asked himself why this dream could not be realized. She was as simple as a child of 10 years: he would in- struct her and would remould a soul. Her cure, that she believed she owed to the Holy Virgin, she would be made to understand came to her from the only Mother, impassive and serene nature. But as he made this arrangement of affairs a species of sacred terror grew within him, resulting from his religious education. Great God! did he know if this human heppiness with which he wanted to surround her would ever be worth the holy innocenge, the childish natvete in which she lived? What re- proaches after a time, if she was not happy! And then, what a play on conscience to reject the cassock to marry the girl mirac- ulously cured but yesterday, to do away with her belief sufficiently to get her to consent to the sacrifice! And yet in that Qirection lay bravery; there lay reason, life, the true man, the true woman, the neces- sary and great union. Why, then, my God, did he not dare? A horrible sadness misled his reflections; he heard nothing but the suffering of his poor heart. The train rolled along with its enormous clapping of wings; there still remained awake on! Sister Hyacinthe in the worn out slumbers of the car, and at this moment Marle, 1 ing toward Plerre, said to bim gently: “It is strange, my friend, T can scarcely keep up, 1 am so sleepy, and yet I cannot sleep.” Then with a slight laugh: “1 have Parfs fn my head.” How Paris?" Yes, yes, 1 dream that it s walting for me. Ah! I know nothing of that city of Paris, but I shall have to live there.” This was agony for Pierre. He had truly foreseen it; she could not be his; she would belong to others. . Parls would take her from him If Lourdes returned her to him. And he pictured that simple girl fatally ac- quiring her education as & woman The little soul so spotlessly white that remained open in the big girl of 23 years, that soul that fliness had placed aside, far from life, far even from novels, would ‘quickly become ripe, now thut she regained her free fight. He saw the young irl, laughing, strong, running everywhere, looking, hearing, meet- ing one day the husband who would com- plete her education. “Then you look forward to baving a good time in Paris “I, my friend; oh, what are you saying? Are ‘we rich enough to expect a good time? No; I was thinking of my poor sister Blanche; 1 was wondering what I would be able to do In Paris 80 as to assist her a lit- tle. She is so good; she gives herself so much troublo; 1 do not wish to have her con- tinue alone in earning money.' After another silence, as be himselt kept quict ana was deeply moved “Formerly, before 1 suffercd too much, I palnted miniatvres well enough. You re member 1 wmade a portralt on paper that looked very much like him and everybody though very pretty. You will help me, won't you? You will seek orders for portraits for me." Then she spoke of the new life that she would lead. She wished to arrange a room, draping It with cretonne with small blus Rowers out of her first savings. Blanche had spoken to her about the big shops, where everything could be bought at very low prices. To go out with Blanche, to run around a litrle, would be so much fun for her who had never seen anything, confined to her bed since chiidhood. And Picrre quieted for & moment, suffered again in find- ing in her that burning desire to live, that anxlety to see everything, to know every- thing, to taste everything. 1t was the final awakening of the woman she was to become, that he had formerly divined, adored as a \i1d, a dear crenture of gayety and passion, with a mouth like flowers, eyes Iike stars, a milky complexion, golden hair, resplendent in the joy of being. Oh, T shall work and_work, and are right, Plerre, I will' have beeause there 1s .no harm merry, 15 there? No, surely not, Marfe." undays will ) y far into the woods, trees, We will also go to the theater, If papa will take us there, I am told that there are a great many places that one may But that 1s not all. For that matter, so long as I go out into the streets and sce things I will be so happy, and I will be so gny when I return! It is so nice to live, isn’t it, Plerre?"” “Yes, yos, Marie, it s vory nice, A death-lile chill had crept over | He was wild with regret that he was no longer a man Why, then, while ghe thus tempted him with her irritating c her the truth that was gnawing him? He might have seized her, he might have won her. Never had a more awful struggle oc currad in his rt and in his will At one moment he wi on the point of uttering the irretrievable words. But she had already resumed the tone of a playful child. 'Oh, look at my poor papa. Joy sleeping so soundly!” nough, on the seat facing them M. reaint slept with a happy expres- as though he were in his bed, without seeming to be conscious of the continual jolts. The monotonous roliing and pitching ceemed nothing more than a rocking and made the entire car sleep. It was an enti relapse, an unconsciousness of bodies, in the midst of disordered baggage, that had slipped from its place, as though {t had become drowsy under the smoky lamplight, and the rhythmic grinding of the wheels Kept right on through the unknown darkmess where the train ran. At times, though, before a sta- tion, under a bridge, the wind of the race be- me engulfed and a tempest suddenly blew Then the rocking grind was resumed as be- fore and continued indefinitely. Marie gently took Pierre's hand. They seon st, alone, with all around them un- conscious in the great, grinding peace of the train rushing through the biack night. Sadness—that sad feeling which she had until then hidden—had returned to her, drowning in shade her dark blue eyes, ““My good Pierre, you will often come with us, won't you?" He had felt a thrill as her little pressed his. His heart was at his lips. decided to speak. However, he still strained himself as he murmured: “Marie, I am not always free. not go everywhere.' priest,”” she repeated; “yes, a priest; I understand. Then it was she who spoke, who confessed the mortal secret that was crushing her heart since their departure. She leaned further over and resumed in a lower voice: “Listen, my good Pi 1 am terribly sad. I look contented, but I have death in my soul. You lied to me yesterday.” He was frightened. He did not understand at_first. “I lied to you! How? A sort of shame held her back; she still hesitated at the point of entering the mys- tery of a conscience that was not her own. She went on, as a friend, as a sister: “Yes, you allowed me to think you had been saved with me, and it was not true, Pierre; you did not regain your lost faith.” Great God! she knew. It was a shock for him, so great a catastrophe that he forgot his own troubles. To begin with, he wished to_maintain his lie of fraternal charity. “But I assure you so, Marle. What could have given you so bad a thought?" “Oh! my friend, keep qulet for pity's sake. It would hurt me too much to have you lie any longer. See here, it was back there at the station as we were about to start when that unhappy fellow died. Good Abbe Ju- besides a_good In being you time, the country oh, where there are fine ve He must en- hand He re- A priest daine got on his knees and said prayers for the repose of that sonl in revolt and I felt it all, understood all, when I saw that you did not get on your knees and that prayers did not also come to your lips.” ‘Truly, Marie, I assure you—"" No, 5o, you didn’t pray for the dead; you no longer believe. ~And then, there is also another thing, it is all that I guess, all that comes to me from you, a despair that cannot hide; there is melancholy in your poor eyes when they meet mine. The Holy Vir- gin did not grant my prayer, did not restore your faith, and I am very unhappy.” She was crying. A hot tear fell on the hand of the priest, which she had continued to hold. That upset him, he ceased to struggle, confessing all, and in his turn let- ting his tears fall, while he muttered In a very low volce: “Oh, Marle, I am, too, very unhappy; oh, very unhapp: - For a moment they kept still in the bitter grief of feeling between each other the abyss of their beliefs. They would never be more closely drawn together. They wor- ried especially about their inability to bring themselves together henceforth, since heaven itself had refused to retie the bond. Side cried over thelr separation. she resumed, sorrowfully, *I who had prayed so much for your conversion; I who was so happy. It had seemed to me that your soul melted into my soul, and it was 8o lovely to have been saved together— together. 1 felt strength to live! Oh, strength to uplift the world. He made no response; his tears kept flow- ing without cease. “And to think,” she went on, “that I alone have been cured; that I have that great de- light without you! It is to see you So lonely, so disconsolate, that tears my heart, when T am overwhelmed with grace and joy. Ah, how severe the Holy Virgin has been! Wiy did she not cure your soul at the same time that she cured my body?” The last chance had come to him. He should have spoken, broken at last to that innocent child, the light of reason, explained the miracle to her, so that life, after having accomplished for her the work of health, should finish its triumph by throwing them in cach other's arms. - He, too, was cured; it would be common sense after that, and it was not because he had lost his faith, it was losing her that brought on his tears. But an invincible pity ook possession of him in his great sorrow. No, no, he would not trouble that soul, he would not take away its faith, which, perhaps, some day would be its sole support in the midst of the troubles of the world. One cannot expect of either children or women the bitter heroism of reason. He had not the strength; he even thought that he had not the right. ~ It would have seemed to him an outrage, a horrid murder. And he did not speak. His tears grew more burning during that im- molation of his love, the desperate sa rifice of his own happiness, so that she should re- main candid, ignorant and joyful. “On, Marie, how unhappy I am. There are none on the highways, none in the pris- ons more miserable than I. Oh, Marle, it you knew, it you knew how unhappy I am!" She was moved. trembling arms and She selzed him In her tried to console him with & brotherly hug. At that moment, the woman awakening in her, she guessed every- thing. She, too sobbed that she should be separated by every human and divine will. She had never yet thought of such things. She suddenly caught a glimpse of lifo with fts passions, its struggles, its sufferings. She sought for words to appease a little Dleeding heart, and she whispered very low, provoked to find nothing tender enough to say. “I know, I know." found words, and as If what she ay should only be heard by angels me uneasy and looked around her in the car. But it seemed as though sleep hud grown still sounder there, Her father slept with the innocence of a great child. Not one of the pilgrime, not one of the in- valids had stirred during the rough rocking hat carried them along. Sister Hyacinthe herself, giving way to crushing wearlness, had shut her eyes after having In her turn pulled the screen over the lamp of the com- partment, There remained only a vague Shadow, indistinct bodies between nameless Objects, bardly apparent, that a breath of tempest and a furious fight pulled ever onward in the darkness, She also mistrusted that black country, running to unknown dis- tances on either side of the traln, where one conld not even find out what foresta, what rivers, what hills were being passed Awhile ago bright sparks had appeared Qistant mills, perhaps sad lamps of workers or of invallds, but again the night was desp, | the sea obscure, infinite | was always further, clsewhere and nowhe Marie, then overcome with modest cen | I promised the Holy Virgin to co or, d!d he not tell | | would belong to nono bu | to the end as he had loved her from child- unnamed, where one | sfon, blushing i the midst of her tear put her lips to Plosre’s ear: Listen, my:friend, Thero I8 a great se- oret betwen ‘the!Moly Virgin and me. 1 had sworn to ‘hen that I would tell it nobody. But you are too unhappy suffer too mpch, and she will forgive I am going ta eonfide It to you." Then, in a whisper: “During the night of love, you know. night of burnipg pestacy that I passed fore the grotto, 1 bound myself by an oath nsecrate my cured Wierre me. the be. 1 me. She that, virginity to her it she cur me, and neyer--you [hear never will I marry anybody Ah! What unboped-for sweetness as though dew had fallen upon his poor, bruised heart., It was a divine charm, or deliclous bellef, . If she belonged to no other she would thon always be a little his. How well she had understood his trouble and what should be said to him under existence possi- ble for him He wished in his turn to find some happy words to thank her, to omise that he, too, her, would love her He felt hood, as a dear being whose sole Kiss, formerly, had been enough to perfume his whole Iife. But she made him keep quiet, already fearful and afraid of spoiling so pure a minute No, no, my friend; do not let us say any more. It would be wrong, perhaps. I am very tired. I shall sleep quietly now." And she rested her head against his shoulder and went to sleep at once, with the confidenco of a sister. He Kept awake for a short time, filled with that sad happi- ness of the renouncement that they had just tasted together. This time it was really ended. The sacrifice had been consum- mated. He would live alone, outside of the life of other men. He would never know woman, ver would a living being be born of him. He had only the consoling pride of this accepted, voluntary suicide in the desolate grandeur of existences outside of nature. Rut fatigue overcame him, too; his eyelids ed, he slept in his turn. Then his head sank down, his cheek touched that of his friend, who slept very quictly with her forehead against his shoulder. Their hair became mixed. She had her golden hair, her royal tresses, half loosened. They waved across his face and he dreamed in the odor of her hair. Without doust the same dream of bliss came to them togdther, for their tender faces had taken the same expression of rapture, both laughed to the angels, It was chaste and passionate abandon, the innocence of this chance sleep, which placed them thus in the arms of eacn other, their limbs Joined, their lips cool aml close, their breaths intermingling, like naked children lying ‘in the same cradle. And such was thoir wedding night, the consum- mation of the spiritual marriage in which they were to live, a deliclous annihilation of weariness, scarcely a passing dream of mystical possession, in the middle of that car of misery and suffering that rolled and ever rolied in the black night. Hours and hours sped by, the wheels ground, baggage swung from the pegs, while the stacked, crushed bodies showed only enormous fatigue, the great physical weariness of the land of miracles on the return of over- strained souls. At 5 o'clock, finally, as the sun was rising, there was a sudden awakening, a misty entry In a large station, cries of employes, opering doors and the confusion of moving people. They ‘were in Poitiers, and tue whole car was up-and in the midst of a clamor of voi0os, eXclamations and laughs. It was little Sophie Couteau, who was gotting out there, who was saying gooaby. She kissed all the'ladies and even climbed over the partition ‘to bid farewell to Sister Claire des Anges, whom nobody had seen siuce the preceding evening, hidden in her corner, slender and silent, with her riys- terious eyes. - Then the child returned, took her little bundle and said pleasant things, specially to Sister Hyacinthe and to Mme. dé Jonquiere. | [ “Goodby, my sister; goodby, madam. T tlenk you for all your kindnesses. You must return next year, my child."” “Oh, my sister, I shall not fail to. It is mylduty: Sonanes “And, my dear child, be good and keep strong, so that the Holy Virgin may be proud of you.”? “Certainly, madam; she has been so good, it amuses me, to return to see her.” When she ‘was on the platform all the pllgrimé in the éar leaned out and followed her with bright looks, with salutations, wvith shouts. A “Next year! Next year!” Yes, yes, many thanks. Next year.” The morning prayer was only to be satd on reaching Chatellerault, After the stop at Poitiers, when the train was again under way, with the little fresh thrill of morning M. de Guersaint announced in his gay manper that he had slept splen- dldly, noiwithstanding the hardness of the seat. Mme. de Jonquiere, too, congratulated herself on the good rest, of which she had stood in such need, but was a little confused, however, to have left Sister Hyacinthe alone to watch La Grivotte, who now trembled in a high fever, her horrible cough having re- turned. The other pilgrims arranged their clothes a little, the ten women in the rear replaced their kerchiefs, retied their bonnet strings, with a sort of modest uneasiness, in their poor and sad ugliness. Elise Rou- quet, with her face close to her mirror, could not cease examining her nose, her mouth, her lips, admiring herself, taking in every detail, concluding that she was decidedly getting very nice again. And it was then that Pierre and Marle were again selzed by great compassion, in looking at Mme. Vincent, that nothing had been able to draw her out of the stupor in which she had fallen, nefther the noisy stock in Poitiers nor the sound of volces since they had started agaln. Yying on the seat, she had not opened her eyes, she still dozed, tor- mented by awful dreams. And, while big tears kept dropping from her closed lids, she had taken hold of the pillow that she had been compelled to use, she pressed it tightly to her breast in some nightmare of suffering maternity. Her poor, motherly arms, so long weighted with her dying child, her unoccu- pled arms, empty for all time to come, had found this pillow in her sleep and they had selzed it as though it were a ghost in’ blind embrace. But M. Sabathier had a pleasant awaken- ing. While Mme. Sabathier folded the covers, carefully wrapping his dead legs, ho be; to talk with eyes brightened by his vision: Ho said he had dreamt of Lourdes, the Holy Virgin had bent over toward him with a smile of benevolent promise. And before Mme. Vincent, that mother whose daughter the Virgin had allowed to die, before La Grivotte, that unfortunate woman cured by her, but so roughly returned to her mortal allment, he expressed great rejoicing. He repeated to M. de Guersaint, with an air of absolute certainty “Oh, sir! I shall roturn home with an easy mind. Next year I shall be cured. Yes, yes! as that dear little child cried out a while ago, uext year, next year!" It was the indemteuctible fllusion, victorious even over cemtainty, the eternal hope that would not die, that gprang again, even firmer, after each defedt 6n'(he ruins of all, At Chattellerault, Sister Hyacinthe had the morning prayer said, the pater and the ave, the credo, an appeal to God, to ask Him for the favor of w finerday. Oh, my God, give me enough strength to avoid all evil, to do all good, to suffer all troubles! "CHAPTER V. And the trayel continued, the train rolled, ever rolled. At Sainte Maure the prayers of the morning servigg,were said and the Credo was sung at Saint, Plerre des Corps. But plous exerclses, Werq no longer 8o much ap- preciated, zeal had)become less ardent, in the growing fatigue of this return after so long an exaltatfon’ 8¢ the souls. So Sister Hyacinthe undbrsfobd that it would be a pléasant relaxution'for all those poor, worn out people to havh some one read aloud to them; and she promised that she would allow the abbe to read the end of Bernadotte's life of which he had already on two different o casions described such marvellous episodes But they waited to reach les Aubrais, as they would have ubout two hours between les Aubrias and Etampes, all the time re quired for finishing the story without being interrupted. The stations then agaln in a monotonous had been done on the through the same plains with the rosary at Amboise, said the first string, the five joyful mysteries; then, after having sung at Blols the hymn, “Bless, O Tender Mother,” they recited at Beaugeney the second string, the fve sorrowful mys- teries. The sub since mornlng had been veiled by u soft dewn of clouds, the country they passed was very pleasant and rather sad in its constant faullke waving. On the another of what Lourdes, succceded one epetition way to You | They began again | | its speed two sides of the road In the gray Hght, trees [ and houses disappeared with the vague lightness of a dream, while the distant hills, bathed In mist, went more slowly, with an easy surflike swinging. Between Beaugeney and les Aubrals the train seemed to slacken ever rolllng on, with the rhyth mical, persistent grinding of the wheels that the stupefied pligrims were not even able to hear any more. At last, as soon as they had left les Au brals, they b n their luncheon in (he car It was a quarter to 12 o'clock. And when they had sald the An the three Aves, thrice repc 1, Plerre pulled from Marie's tehel the little book with a blue cover, ornamente with a single picture of Our Lady of Lourdes. Siste Hyacinthe had clapped her hands to obtain sil; The priest was then able to begin his reading in his fine, resonant volce, while all about awakened; all the big children's curiosity had been intensely aroused by the phenome. nal tale. Now it related to the stay in Neve and to the death of Bernadette. But, as he had done on the two proy.ous occas sions, he woon ceased keeping to the text of the little boook, adding to its charming re citals of what he knew, what he surmised, and before him again appeared the true, human, piteous story, the one that no one had told and that touched his heart It was on July 8, 1866, that Bernadette left Lourde She started to go into retreat ia Nevel at the Convent of St. Gildard, the headquarters of the sisters who served in the hospital where she had learned to read, where she had lived eight years. She was then 22 years old; elght years had passed since the Holy Virgin had appeared before her, And her fare Is to the grotto, to the basilica, to ali the town she loved were wet with tears. But she could no longer live there in the continual persecution of public curiosity, of visits, of homage and of adoration. Her feeble health was finally cruelly affected by it. A sincere humility and a timid love for shade and silence had inspired in her at least an ardent wish to disappear, to hide in unknown darkness her widespread glory of one divinely saved that the worlid would not leave alone in peace; and she only dreamed of simplicity of mind, of a calm, ordinary life, devoted to prayer and to daily tasks. Her departure was, con- uently, a relief for her and for the grotto, that was beginning to interfere with her too great innocence and her too heavy afflictions. In Nevers, Saint Gildard must have been a paradise. She found there air, sun, spacious rooms and a large yard planted with hand- some trees. She did not, however, get quiet and wholly forget the world in the far away desert. Hardly twenty days after her ar- rival she took the holy garb under the name of Sister Marie Bernard, binding herself only by partial vows. But even there people fol- lowed her, and the persecution of the crowd about her began anew. She was followed even into the cloister by those who felt an unextinguishable need to draw forgivenessifor their sins frem her holy person. Ah, to see her, to touch her, to have the pleasure of looking at her, in rubbing, without he knowledge, some medal against her It was t credulous passion for fetich of faithful ones rushing after, pursuing this poor being made into a god, each one wishing to take away his share of hope and of di- vine ingpiration. She cried in her weariness, in impatient revolt, repeating: “Why should they torment me so? Why am I different from the rest?"” In the long run a real sorrow came over her that she should be a sort of “living curiosity,”as she had concluded by calling herself, with a sad smile of suffering. She protected herself as weil as she could, re- fusing to see anybody. She was also pro- tected by those around her, very narrowly at times, and was only shown to visitors who had the bishop's authorization. The doors of the convent remained closed, and clergymen alone were able to gain admittan as a ugual thing. But even they were too numer- ous to suit her taste for solitude; she was frequently obstinate, and had the priests sent away without having consented to go down to the parlor, as she was annoyed beforehand to ever describe the sameo occurrence, to forever submit to the same questions. She was incensed, exasperated, for the sake of the Holy Virgin herself. But at times she had to give in, as the bishop came in person with great men, dignitaries and prelates she then showed herself in her serious way, she answered questions politely, as briefly as possible, and sie only fele comfortable when allowed to return to her shady corner. Di- vinity never weighed more heavily on any being. One day, when she was asked jf she was not proud of the ccastant visits of her bishop, she answered simply: ““Monsigneur does not come to see me; he comes to show me off. Princes of the church, great militant Catho- lics, wished to see her and were affected to the point of tears before her; and, in her horror at being on public exhibition, in the annoyance that they caused to her simplicity, she left them without understanding, very tired and very sad. However, she had settled down at Saint Gildard. She led there a pleasant life, fixed now in habits that had become dear to her. She was so delicate, so often ill, that she became at last quite a skillful needle- woman, embroidering finely albs and altar cloths. But frequently all her strength left her and she could not even do these light tasks. When she was not in bed she passed long days in an arm chair, having only the distractions of saying her rosary and of read- ing religious works. Since she knew how to read she was interested in books, in pretty stories about conversions, in the great legends in which the saints figured, and also in the fine and frightful dramas in which one saw the devil tricked and plunged back into hell. But her great tenderness, her constant marveling was for the bible, that prodigious New Testament of whose per- petual miracle she never wearied. She re- membered Barties' bible, that old yellow book in the family for a hundred years; she could see her foster father each evening stick in a pin at random and then begin to read aloud from the right hand page, and at that time she already knew so well those admira- ble storles that she could have continued from memory after no matter what sentence. Now that she read them herself she found them an eter surprise, and ever new de- light. The recital of the Passion upset her specially, as an extraordinary and tragical event that had only just occurred. She sobbed with pity, her whole poor suffering frame retained the thrill for hours. Pel haps in her tears she unconsciously felt the pain of her own passion, the desolate Cal- vary that she, too, had tread since he youth, When she was not suffering and she puld work in the infirmary, Bernadette came and went, filling the building with her lively, childish gayety. Until her death she r mained simple and babyish, loving to laugh, to.romp and to play. She was very small— the smallest one in the convent which led her companions always to treat her rather as a youngster. Her face became longer, more haggard and lost the freshness of youth; but her eyes retained their pure and Qivine brightness; they were the beautiful eyes of a visionary, In which, as though a limpid sky, passed the flight of drean As she grew older and suffered she became a little bitter and violent, her disposition was spoiled, uneasy and rude at tmes; these were minor imperfections for which she felt mortal regrets after the crisis. She humili- lated herself, believing hersell damned, asking everybody to forgive her. But, most often, how good a daughter of good God! She was vivacious, alert; she was quick in repartee, in laughable comments; she had a peculiar attractiveness which made people adore ler. Notwithstanding her great devotion, although she passed days in prayer, she did not pr claim a harsh religion, without an utteran of zeal for the others, but was tolerant full of pity. No holy nun, In a word, w more of a woman, with personal attributes, a well marked personality, charming even in her childishness. And the gift of child- hood that she retained, that simple inno- cence, making her still a child, impelled children to cherish her, always recognizing in her one of their own kind; all ran to her, Jumped on her knees, took her neck between their little arms, and the yard then rever- berated with their wild games, races and shouts, and it was not she who ran the least, or shouted the least, so happy was she to become once more & poor, unknown little girl, as she was in the long past days of Barties! Later, it Is sald, that a mother brought to the convent her paralyzed child to have the saint cure It by a touch, She sobbed so hard that the su- perior finally consented to the test But, as Beroadetie refused indignantly when she was asked to do miracles, she was not fore- warned, but was imply called to carry the sick child to the infirmary And she ¢ ried the child and when she put It on the ground the child walked It was cured. (To be continued next Sunday.) Cook's Imperlal. World's falr award, excellent champagne cence, agreeable bouquet, dell a *'highest ous flavor, AN LD MINER'S ESCAPES Ho Gets Through '49 Well Enough, but is Caught Later, He Tells Storles that Are His Eventful “n the Up Gra ing of Karly Days Downfall— SAN FRANCISCO, Cal,, June. are better known around town than old Josiah Quincy, and amongst the “boys” he is known as “Uncle Josh Quincy is almost the youngest of the ploneers who were actually engaged in gold mining, and his record is re garded as phenomenal, He is known to have driven a stage to Low Julch for a couple of weeks because no one else could be found to understake the job, thres drivers and four deputy sheriffs having been “picked off” fn the two preceding weeks. It matter of common notorie'y that he has “looked down the barrel” of Black Bart's gun and through cool nerve escaped with his life, and the scalps of four horse thieves could be at his belt if he were an Indian Like a number of other good men, Uncle Josh did not make a fortune on the Comstock, but he did make a_competency, and invested it pretty wisely. He said he had done with hard work—that he had earned a rest and lives & man who Is about as regardful of a dollar or two as & man ean well be and bo decent, says the Detroit Frea Press. He 18 & farmer (n comfortable clrcumstances, and being thrifty, honest, industrious and a bachelor, he was considered quite the catch of the melghborhoood, notwithstanding his painful exactness In monoy matters. He finally married a widow worth fn her own right $10,000, and shortly aftorward a friend met him “Allow me," you. That $10,000 to you." No,” he replied Indeed? 1 thot of ten thousand in it “Oh, no,” and he sighed a little; “I had to pay a dollar for the marriage licen he sald, arriage was “to congratulate worth a clean “not_quite that mueh.*” It there was every cent Years who live the w g0 an old hard-shell preacher, the border In tho days when Indlans were at war with the whites, making preparations one morning to g0 to his church, miles away, through a country infested with savages. He was carefully loading his old flint lock rifle to tike along when a friend present remarked: What are you going to take that gun along for, old man? Don't you know that if it s foreordained for the Indians to kill you the gun won't save you?" “That's very true,” sald the old man, as he deliberately rammed the ball home. “But suppose that it is foreordained that the Indan shall be killed? Now, how would the good Lord earry out his purpose If T didn’t have my gun along?’ That closed tho debate on P intended to have it. He was going to re easily for the rest of his days. This was in the early '70s. But “man proposes and God | disposes.” KFor year he was a familiar figure In down-town hotels, always surrounded by group of interested people, for Uncle Josh is | a good story teller, and though he occasfonally took a drink and always smoked a good clgar, he was never loose in habits, manner or dross. About five years ago, though, a change was noted In the sturdy ex-miner. He was no longer himself. He had been always a bach lor, though there were plenty of good girls who would have been proud to have called him husband ,but all the blandishments of the fair sex were apparently wasted on him, | Still fn all the vigor of his manhood, he all of | a sudden began to dissipate. First it was wine, thon a return to an excess of draw poker, and eventually he seemed to lose his grip | altogether. Vice heaped upon vice until “‘the man of iron nerve,’ as he was once faceti- ously called, was a complete physical and moral wreck. That was ubout four years ago. Sinco then until about a year ago, he wan- dered around to his old haunts getting weak- er and shakier every day, always getting a little help from his fr ds of old. Last summer he disappeared altogether, and those who were accustomed to meeting him gave up Uncle Josh for dead. A week ago, how- ever, he turned up looking so much like the man he was before he began to dissipate that quite a number of people thought—or sald they thought—it was his ghost. Yeste: day, surrounded by a score or more of old- tin he explained his disappearance and rema ple reappearance. The gist of the | story is this: | A few of his frineds, more out of charity | than anything else, went to him about a year | ago, and made him a busines proposition to go back to the mines. They a claim and were willing to give him an interest if he would superintend the mine. He would glad- ly have gone, but his nerve was broke ou can get around all right,”” said one, “if you only consent to place yoursell hands which I know to be competent ** Uncle Josh consented. His friend—a big grain Qealer—took him to the Hudson Medical In- stitute, 1032 Market street, San Franc California. His case was carefully examined by the speclalists there, and at tho close of the examination the chief consulting phys cian said: “You have a good chance to be well again. Your constitution is not en- tirely ruined.” Then he prescribed their groat Specific for nervous disorders and de- pleted physical condition—The Great Hudyan, to-wit—and this wreck of a man, in: de of two months, was superintending operations at the mine. ‘Winding up his story last hight, Mr. Quincy said: “That must be a wonderfully potent drug, or combination of them, although they assure me it is purely vegetable, for it actually restored me to life | in & couple of months. Of course I give the doctors credit for unusual skill too, for whilst 1 was up in the mines a couplo of friends of mine, just by writing to the Institute, got | thelr disoases correctly diagnosed. —They never came near the city at all, and they are Dbolh strong and healthy now.” ‘Continuing, Mr. Quincy said that the de- velopment, of the mine had far exceeded his most sanguine expectations, and that as well as being in perfect health, he was financially on the ‘‘up grade’’ again. ork Press, Now some toast and “Please make me d b i suld P m done with my book, said she; And she turned her head with and a pout, But by her refusal he He looked with a smile at her, Kk she devoured with “I know when they're tea,” +Ooh, a frown wasn't put out. did_he, idity ready, sweet, With pleasure extreme I will drink eat, Yor your bread is light as the foam of the sea, & And the toast o It's caual has this town, Crisp, and in color a golden brown, And ' nectarous draught is the tea you maks A joy to see, a delight to tak She arose from the lounge with a smile on her lip, And out to the kiteh And he could she. Was busy preparing his toast and tea. and you make is done to a never been made in passed with a skip, say “Juck Robinson™ TAL TOLD ABOUT PREACHERS Rey. Francls Winter, who preached in Bath, Me., in the last half of the eighteenth century, possessed eminent tact and decision, parish had fallen behind in the payment his salary, Continental money was legal 1or, but the fixed day was near when it would be worthless, A deacon of the church the parish, says Youth’s Compani Tho jdea was entertained of paying Mr. Winter on the Saturday preceding the Monday on | which Continental money would cease to be legal tender. The collector was despatched with the worthless bills on Saturday after- noon, and found the parson at home. 1 think, Father Winter,” said he, “that you have & bill against the parish?” “I have. ‘I thought,” went on the collector, “that you might be in need of money, and so I came to settle with you' The parson took in the situation at once. He knew that refusal of a legal tender would forfeit the debt Are you not the collector?” he asked. “ am.” “I recelve my money from the treasurer,” sald the parson. The collector saw his mistake and hurried back to send the treasurer to the rescue. Meantime the parson donned his Sunday | clothes, and said to Mrs. Winter, “Wife, I shall exchange tomorrow.” Without further explanation he mounted | his horse and rode away, and not too soon, for the treasurer speedily appear d with his pockets full of Continental money. “Where i Mr. Winter?’" he’ inquired haste. “Gone off to exchange,” Wi ply; and when she was qu the good lady confessed ‘that s not know whether he had gone town to exchange with Parson Emerson, or to Harpswell Neck to exchange with Mr. Eaton On Sunday an “‘exchange’ filled the pulpit, and on Monday the clever parson's dues were still unpaid. tel was treasurer of in 1 his wife's re- | tioned further, really did to George- Up in one of Michigan's thriving counties | tips [ ah—I think | we 80 | tiful. Br-our revival has resulted in so many ssions to the church,” sald the minister, loaning back fn bis chair and putting the of his fingers together, “that I-—um, It would not be ‘a bad idea for my salary to be incroased.” “U'm afraid we can’t do it, brother,” re- plicd the deacon ou see the only way any of them to join was by explaining that with a large membership the burden of carrying a minister at the salary you are now getting would be but little felt.” —— s one recently swept over a country the vicinity of Blk Large areas of pine timber wers mowed down like before a ma- chine, and ranches in the track of the storn were damaged. Hail fell to a depth of five inches. A terrible o soction of City, Idaho, in TR A The Mercur mill at the Mercur gold mine, Utah, reduced 3,000 tons of cre in the month of June. It uses the cyanide process and declares two dividends per month of $25,000 each. 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