The little shepherdess yielded to their entreaties and their promise of eternal secrecy.
"I saw," she began, "something dressed in white." And she went on to describe her marvellous vision. "This is what I saw," said she in conclusion; "but do not, for the world, say anything about it."
Marie and Jeanne did not doubt a syllable. The soul in its first innocence is naturally believing. Doubt is not the besetting sin of childhood. And even were they disposed to be sceptical, the earnest accents of Bernadette, still agitated and full of what she had seen, would have irresistibly led them to believe. Marie and Jeanne did not doubt, but they were frightened. The children of the poor are naturally timid. Nor is it strange, since sufferings come to them from every side.
"It is, perhaps, something that will do us harm," said they. "Let us never go there again, Bernadette."
Scarcely had the confidants of the little shepherdess reached the house, when the secret fairly boiled over. Marie told it all to her mother. "What is all this stuff, Bernadette, that your sister has been telling me?" The little girl repeated her story. Marie Soubirous shrugged her shoulders.
"You have been deceived, child. It was nothing at all. You thought that you saw something, but you did not. This is all fancy and imagination."
Bernadette still adhered to her story.
"At any rate," said her mother, "never go near that place again. I forbid it."
This prohibition wounded Bernadette to the heart. For, ever since the apparition had vanished, she had felt the greatest desire to see it once more.
Nevertheless, she was resigned, and said nothing.