ered by a black fichu, and who had not
yet moved, was saying that she felt hungry.

With quiet devotion Madame de Jonquiere immediately tendered her
services. "Don't you trouble, Sister," she said, "I will cut her bread
into little bits for her."

Marie, with the need she felt of diverting her mind from her own
sufferings, had already begun to take an interest in that motionless
sufferer whose countenance was so thickly veiled, for she not unnaturally
suspected that it was a case of some distressing facial sore. She had
merely been told that the patient was a servant, which was true, but it
happened that the poor creature, a native of Picardy, named Elise
Rouquet, had been obliged to leave her situation, and seek a home with a
sister who ill-treated her, for no hospital would take her in. Extremely
devout, she had for many months been possessed by an ardent desire to go
to Lourdes.

While Marie, with dread in her heart, waited for the fichu to be moved
aside, Madame de Jonquiere, having cut some bread into small pieces,
inquired maternally: "Are they small enough? Can you put them into your
mouth?"

Thereupon a hoarse voice growled confused words under the black fichu:
"Yes, yes, madame." And at last the veil fell and Marie shuddered with
horror.

It was a case of lupus which had preyed upon the unhappy woman's nose and
mouth. Ulceration had spread, and was hourly spreading--in short, all the
hideous peculiarities of this terrible disease were in full process of
development, almost obliterating the traces of what once were pleasing
womanly lineaments.

"Oh, look, Pierre!" Marie murmured, trembling. The priest in his turn
shuddered as he beheld Elise Rouquet cautiously slipping the tiny pieces
of bread into her poor shapeless mouth. Everyone in the carriage had
turned pale at sight of the awful apparition. And the same thought
ascended from all those hope-inflated souls. Ah! Blessed Virgin, Powerful
Virgin, what a miracle indeed if such an ill were cured!

"We must not think of ourselves, my children, if we wish to get well,"
resumed Sister Hyacinthe, who still retained her encouraging smile.

And then she made them say the second chaplet, the five sorrowful
mysteries: Jesus in the Garden of Olives, Jesus scourged, Jesus crowned
with thorns, Jesus carrying the cross, and Jesus crucified. Afterwards
came the canticle: "In thy help, Virgin, do I put my trust."

They had just passed through Blois; for three long