It was on Saturday, the 8th of September, Feast of the Nativity, that the journey was resolved upon.
M. Guerrier felt, however, no small anxiety at the prospect (in case his worst fears should be realized) of finding himself in a place where, knowing no one, he could expect no aid or support beyond the services to be had at hotels.
“If only,” he said, “I knew of any one there who could guide us a little! I shrink from this plunge into the unknown.”
On the 10th or 11th of September the Abbé Poindron, curé of St. Gobain, saw, announced in a newspaper, the death of Mgr. Peyramale, and in the account given of his last moments observed the name of the Abbé Martignon. He went immediately to M. Guerrier, and said: “You will have some one at Lourdes to receive and direct you. I know Canon Martignon, and am writing to recommend you particularly to his kind care. On the way telegraph to him the hour of your arrival. He will be prepared for it.”
The exact time of the dreaded departure was then fixed for Wednesday, the 12th of September. It was arranged that the travellers should stop at Paris for a day’s repose, and that the rest of the journey should, if possible, be made without another halt until they reached Lourdes. An invalid carriage was engaged of the railway company to be in readiness.
Great was the anxiety of the family.... The children, however, rejoiced beforehand, implicitly believing that their mother would be cured: Marie, the youngest, who never remembered seeing her otherwise than in bed and infirm, exclaimed: “Mamma will come back to us like another mamma, and we shall have a mamma who can walk.”
“And,” joined in little Paul, who in this respect had sometimes envied other children of his acquaintance, “mamma will be able to take us on her lap.”
“Yes,” said Alice, “she will come back quite well.”
In order to spare Mme. Guerrier’s aged father the uncertainties and anxieties which preceded the decision, he had not been told what was in contemplation until everything was arranged, and the only thing that remained was to obtain his consent.
The venerable physician was deeply moved on hearing from his daughter her intention of visiting that distant sanctuary to seek from the Mother of God a cure which human science had proved powerless to effect. He consented without hesitation, and, when the moment of departure arrived, raised his hands over his afflicted child in a parting benediction.