see for yourself. I can't leave this poor woman,"
replied the lady-hospitaller; and thereupon she pointed to La Grivotte,
who had been attacked by a fit of coughing which shook her frightfully.

"Oh, how annoying, mamma!" retorted Raymonde, "Madame Desagneaux and
Madame Volmar were looking forward with so much pleasure to this little
lunch together."

"Well, it can't be helped, my dear. At all events, you can begin without
waiting for me. Tell the ladies that I will come and join them as soon as
I can." Then, an idea occurring to her, Madame de Jonquiere added: "Wait
a moment, the doctor is here. I will try to get him to take charge of my
patient. Go back, I will follow you. As you can guess, I am dying of
hunger."

Raymonde briskly returned to the refreshment-room whilst her mother
begged Ferrand to come into her compartment to see if he could do
something to relieve La Grivotte. At Marthe's request he had already
examined Brother Isidore, whose moaning never ceased; and with a
sorrowful gesture he had again confessed his powerlessness. However, he
hastened to comply with Madame de Jonquiere's appeal, and raised the
consumptive woman to a sitting posture in the hope of thus stopping her
cough, which indeed gradually ceased. And then he helped the
lady-hospitaller to make her swallow a spoonful of some soothing draught.
The doctor's presence in the carriage was still causing a stir among the
ailing ones. M. Sabathier, who was slowly eating the grapes which his
wife had been to fetch him, did not, however, question Ferrand, for he
knew full well what his answer would be, and was weary, as he expressed
it, of consulting all the princes of science; nevertheless he felt
comforted as it were at seeing him set that poor consumptive woman on her
feet again. And even Marie watched all that the doctor did with
increasing interest, though not daring to call him herself, certain as
she also was that he could do nothing for her.

Meantime, the crush on the platform was increasing. Only a quarter of an
hour now remained to the pilgrims. Madame Vetu, whose eyes were open but
who saw nothing, sat like an insensible being in the broad sunlight, in
the hope possibly that the scorching heat would deaden her pains; whilst
up and down, in front of her, went Madame Vincent ever with the same
sleep-inducing step and ever carrying her little Rose, her poor ailing
birdie, whose weight was so trifling that she scarcely felt her in her
arms