a secret which was not his own.
Besides, a feeling of uneasiness was returning to him, a kind of chaste
terror at the thought that the world and the flesh were there taking
their revenge, amidst all the mystical enthusiasm which he could feel
around him.

They reached the hospital just as the patients were being brought out to
be carried to the Grotto; and they found that Marie had slept well and
was very gay. She kissed her father and scolded him when she learnt that
he had not yet decided on his trip to Gavarnie. She should really be
displeased with him, she said, if he did not go. Still with the same
restful, smiling expression, she added that she did not expect to be
cured that day; and then, assuming an air of mystery, she begged Pierre
to obtain permission for her to spend the following night before the
Grotto. This was a favour which all the sufferers ardently coveted, but
which only a few favoured ones with difficulty secured. After protesting,
anxious as he felt with regard to the effect which a night spent in the
open air might have upon her health, the young priest, seeing how unhappy
she had suddenly become, at last promised that he would make the
application. Doubtless she imagined that she would only obtain a hearing
from the Virgin when they were alone together in the slumbering
peacefulness of the night. That morning, indeed, she felt so lost among
the innumerable patients who were heaped together in front of the Grotto,
that already at ten o'clock she asked to be taken back to the hospital,
complaining that the bright light tired her eyes. And when her father and
the priest had again installed her in the Sainte-Honorine Ward, she gave
them their liberty for the remainder of the day. "No, don't come to fetch
me," she said, "I shall not go back to the Grotto this afternoon--it
would be useless. But you will come for me this evening at nine o'clock,
won't you, Pierre? It is agreed, you have given me your word."

He repeated that he would endeavour to secure the requisite permission,
and that, if necessary, he would apply to Father Fourcade in person.

"Then, till this evening, darling," said M. de Guersaint, kissing his
daughter. And he and Pierre went off together, leaving her lying on her
bed, with an absorbed expression on her features, as her large, smiling
eyes wandered away into space.

It was barely half-past ten when they got back to the Hotel of the
Apparitions; but M. de Guersaint, whom the f