gain, so that it was necessary
that they should accept the presence of this new pilgrim who had fallen
from heaven as it were at the very moment when the train, which she had
almost missed, was starting off again. She was a slender damsel and would
not take up much room. Moreover these ladies knew her, and all the
patients had turned their eyes upon her on hearing that the Blessed
Virgin had been pleased to cure her. They had now got beyond the station,
the engine was still puffing, whilst the wheels increased their speed,
and Sister Hyacinthe, clapping her hands, repeated: "Come, come, my
children, the _Magnificat_."

Whilst the joyful chant arose amidst the jolting of the train, Pierre
gazed at Sophie. She was evidently a young peasant girl, the daughter of
some poor husbandman of the vicinity of Poitiers, petted by her parents,
treated in fact like a young lady since she had become the subject of a
miracle, one of the elect, whom the priests of the district flocked to
see. She wore a straw hat with pink ribbons, and a grey woollen dress
trimmed with a flounce. Her round face although not pretty was a very
pleasant one, with a beautifully fresh complexion and clear, intelligent
eyes which lent her a smiling, modest air.

When the _Magnificat_ had been sung, Pierre was unable to resist his
desire to question Sophie. A child of her age, with so candid an air, so
utterly unlike a liar, greatly interested him.

"And so you nearly missed the train, my child?" he said.

"I should have been much ashamed if I had, Monsieur l'Abbe," she replied.
"I had been at the station since twelve o'clock. And all at once I saw
his reverence, the priest of Sainte-Radegonde, who knows me well and who
called me to him, to kiss me and tell me that it was very good of me to
go back to Lourdes. But it seems the train was starting and I only just
had time to run on to the platform. Oh! I ran so fast!"

She paused, laughing, still slightly out of breath, but already repenting
that she had been so giddy.

"And what is your name, my child?" asked Pierre.

"Sophie Couteau, Monsieur l'Abbe."

"You do not belong to the town of Poitiers?"

"Oh no! certainly not. We belong to Vivonne, which is seven kilometres
away. My father and mother have a little land there, and things would not
be so bad if there were not eight children at home--I am the
fifth,--fortunately the four older ones are beginning to work."

"And you, my child, what do you do?"