need of the Lie, that necessity for credulity, which is a
characteristic of human nature. At first, when little Bernadette came
with her strange story of what she had witnessed, everybody was against
her. The Prefect of the Department, the Bishop, the clergy, objected to
her story. But Lourdes grew up in spite of all opposition, just as the
Christian religion did, because suffering humanity in its despair must
cling to something, must have some hope; and, on the other hand, because
humanity thirsts after illusions. In a word, it is the story of the
foundation of all religions."

To the foregoing account of "Lourdes" as supplied by its author, it may
be added that the present translation, first made from early proofs of
the French original whilst the latter was being completed, has for the
purposes of this new American edition been carefully and extensively
revised by Mr. E. A. Vizetelly,--M. Zola's representative for all
English-speaking countries. "Lourdes" forms the first volume of the
"Trilogy of the Three Cities," the second being "Rome," and the third
"Paris."

LOURDES

THE FIRST DAY

I. PILGRIMS AND PATIENTS

THE pilgrims and patients, closely packed on the hard seats of a
third-class carriage, were just finishing the "Ave maris Stella," which
they had begun to chant on leaving the terminus of the Orleans line, when
Marie, slightly raised on her couch of misery and restless with feverish
impatience, caught sight of the Paris fortifications through the window
of the moving train.

"Ah, the fortifications!" she exclaimed, in a tone which was joyous
despite her suffering. "Here we are, out of Paris; we are off at last!"

Her delight drew a smile from her father, M. de Guersaint, who sat in
front of her, whilst Abbe Pierre Froment, who was looking at her with
fraternal affection, was so carried away by his compassionate anxiety as
to say aloud: "And now we are in for it till to-morrow morning. We shall
only reach Lourdes at three-forty. We have more than two-and-twenty
hours' journey before us."

It was half-past five, the sun had risen, radiant in the pure sky of a
delightful morning. It was a Friday, the 19th of August. On the horizon,
however, some small, heavy clouds already presaged a terrible day of
stormy heat. And the oblique sunrays were enfilading the compartments of
the railway carriage, filling them with dancing, golden dust.

"Yes, two-and-twenty hours," murmured Marie, re