rom thy children!"

"Holy Virgin of virgins, turn not thy face from thy children!"

"Holy Virgin of virgins, breathe upon our sores, and our sores shall
heal!"

"Holy Virgin of virgins, breathe upon our sores, and our sores shall
heal!"

At the end of the first bench, skirting the central path, which was
becoming crowded, the Vigneron family had succeeded in finding room for
themselves. They were all there: little Gustave, seated in a sinking
posture, with his crutch between his legs; his mother, beside him,
following the prayers like a punctilious _bourgeoise_; his aunt, Madame
Chaise, on the other side, so inconvenienced by the crowd that she was
stifling; and M. Vigneron, who remained silent and, for a moment, had
been examining Madame Chaise attentively.

"What is the matter with you, my dear?" he inquired. "Do you feel
unwell?"

She was breathing with difficulty. "Well, I don't know," she answered;
"but I can't feel my limbs, and my breath fails me."

At that very moment the thought had occurred to him that all the
agitation, fever, and scramble of a pilgrimage could not be very good for
heart-disease. Of course he did not desire anybody's death, he had never
asked the Blessed Virgin for any such thing. If his prayer for
advancement had already been granted through the sudden death of his
chief, it must certainly be because Heaven had already ordained the
latter's death. And, in the same way, if Madame Chaise should die first,
leaving her fortune to Gustave, he would only have to bow before the will
of God, which generally requires that the aged should go off before the
young. Nevertheless, his hope unconsciously became so keen that he could
not help exchanging a glance with his wife, to whom had come the same
involuntary thought.

"Gustave, draw back," he exclaimed; "you are inconveniencing your aunt."
And then, as Raymonde passed, he asked; "Do you happen to have a glass of
water, mademoiselle? One of our relatives here is losing consciousness."

But Madame Chaise refused the offer with a gesture. She was getting
better, recovering her breath with an effort. "No, I want nothing, thank
you," she gasped. "There, I'm better--still, I really thought this time
that I should stifle!"

Her fright left her trembling, with haggard eyes in her pale face. She
again joined her hands, and begged the Blessed Virgin to save her from
other attacks and cure her; while the Vignerons, man and wife, honest
folk both of