But sickness and suffering were no longer of consequence, since they were all there, seated or stretched with their eyes upon the Grotto. The poor, fleshless, earthy-looking faces became transfigured, and began to glow with hope. Anchylosed hands were joined, heavy eyelids found the strength to rise, exhausted voices revived as the priest shouted the appeals. At first there was nothing but indistinct stuttering, similar to slight puffs of air rising, here and there above the multitude. Then the cry ascended and spread through the crowd itself from one to the other end of the immense square.
“Mary, conceived without sin, pray for us!” cried the priest in his thundering voice.
And the sick and the pilgrims repeated louder and louder: “Mary, conceived without sin, pray for us!”
Then the flow of the litany set in, and continued with increasing speed:
“Most pure Mother, most chaste Mother, thy children are at thy feet!”
“Most pure Mother, most chaste Mother, thy children are at thy feet!”
“Queen of the Angels, say but a word, and our sick shall be healed!”
“Queen of the Angels, say but a word, and our sick shall be healed!”
In the second row of sufferers, near the pulpit, was M. Sabathier, who had asked to be brought there early, wishing to choose his place like an old habitué who knew the cosy corners. Moreover, it seemed to him that it was of paramount importance that he should be as near as possible, under the very eyes of the Virgin, as though she required to see her faithful in order not to forget them. However, for the seven years that he had been coming there he had nursed this one hope of being some day noticed by her, of touching her, and of obtaining his cure, if not by selection, at least by seniority. This merely needed patience on his part without the firmness of his faith being in the least shaken by his way of thinking. Only, like a poor, resigned man just a little weary of being always put off, he sometimes allowed himself diversions. For instance, he had obtained permission to keep his wife near him, seated on a camp-stool, and he liked to talk to her, and acquaint her with his reflections.
“Raise me a little, my dear,” said he. “I am slipping. I am very uncomfortable.”