Pierre looked at her, and his trouble increased still more on seeing her
so wretched in her little cart, so distractedly imploring health, her
whole being soaring towards Our Lady of Lourdes, who gave life. Ah! might
she be saved, at the cost even of his own damnation! But she was too ill;
science lied like faith; he could not believe that this child, whose
limbs had been dead for so many years, would indeed return to life. And,
in the bewildered doubt into which he again relapsed, his bleeding heart
clamoured yet more loudly, ever and ever repeating with the delirious
crowd: "Lord, son of David, heal our sick!--Lord, son of David, heal our
sick!"
At that moment a tumult arose agitating one and all. People shuddered,
faces were turned and raised. It was the cross of the four-o'clock
procession, a little behind time that day, appearing from beneath one of
the arches of the monumental gradient way. There was such applause and
such violent, instinctive pushing that Berthaud, waving his arms,
commanded the bearers to thrust the crowd back by pulling strongly on the
cords.
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