r, it was in vain that he sought for words of
prayer in the depths of his distracted being. He was still under the blow
of all the terrible things that he had beheld, worn out with physical
fatigue, his brain depressed, no longer knowing what he saw or what he
believed. His desperate affection for Marie alone remained, making him
long to humble himself and supplicate, in the thought that when little
ones really love and entreat the powerful they end by obtaining favours.
And at last he caught himself repeating the prayers of the crowd, in a
distressful voice that came from the depths of his being "Lord, heal our
sick! Lord, heal our sick!"

Ten minutes, a quarter of an hour perhaps, went by. Then Marie reappeared
in her little conveyance. Her face was very pale and wore an expression
of despair. Her beautiful hair was fastened above her head in a heavy
golden coil which the water had not touched. And she was not cured. The
stupor of infinite discouragement hollowed and lengthened her face, and
she averted her eyes as though to avoid meeting those of the priest who
thunderstruck, chilled to the heart, at last made up his mind to grasp
the handle of the little vehicle, so as to take the girl back to the
Grotto.

And meantime the cry of the faithful, who with open arms were kneeling
there and kissing the earth, again rose with a growing fury, excited by
the Capuchin's shrill voice: "Lord, heal our sick! Heal our sick, O
Lord!"

As Pierre was placing Marie in position again in front of the Grotto, an
attack of weakness came over her and she almost fainted. Gerard, who was
there, saw Raymonde quickly hurry to the spot with a cup of broth, and at
once they began zealously rivalling each other in their attentions to the
ailing girl. Raymonde, holding out the cup in a pretty way, and assuming
the coaxing airs of an expert nurse, especially insisted that Marie
should accept the bouillon; and Gerard, glancing at this portionless
girl, could not help finding her charming, already expert in the business
of life, and quite ready to manage a household with a firm hand without
ceasing to be amiable. Berthaud was no doubt right, this was the wife
that he, Gerard, needed.

"Mademoiselle," said he to Raymonde, "shall I raise the young lady a
little?"

"Thank you, monsieur, I am quite strong enough. And besides I will give
it to her in spoonfuls; that will be the better way."

Marie, however, obstinately preserving her fierce silen