Father Massias and Father Fourcade had
remained at the foot of the pulpit, and were now directing the cries of
the crowd, whose lamentations rose in louder and louder tones beneath the
limpid sunlight. The general exaltation had yet increased; it was the
hour when the violence done to Heaven at last produced the miracles.
All at once a paralytic rose up and walked towards the Grotto, holding
his crutch in the air; and this crutch, waving like a flag above the
swaying heads, wrung loud applause from the faithful. They were all on
the look-out for prodigies, they awaited them with the certainty that
they would take place, innumerable and wonderful. Some eyes seemed to
behold them, and feverish voices pointed them out. Another woman had been
cured! Another! Yet another! A deaf person had heard, a mute had spoken,
a consumptive had revived! What, a consumptive? Certainly, that was a
daily occurrence! Surprise was no longer possible; you might have
certified that an amputated leg was growing again without astonishing
anyone.
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