viting; for, through fear
lest the output of the source should not suffice, the Fathers of the
Grotto only allowed the water of the baths to be changed twice a day. And
nearly a hundred patients being dipped in the same water, it can be
imagined what a terrible soup the latter at last became. All manner of
things were found in it, so that it was like a frightful _consomme_ of
all ailments, a field of cultivation for every kind of poisonous germ, a
quintessence of the most dreaded contagious diseases; the miraculous
feature of it all being that men should emerge alive from their immersion
in such filth.

"Gently, gently," repeated M. Sabathier to Pierre and the Marquis, who
had taken hold of him under the hips in order to carry him to the bath.
And he gazed with childlike terror at that thick, livid water on which
floated so many greasy, nauseating patches of scum. However, his dread of
the cold was so great that he preferred the polluted baths of the
afternoon, since all the bodies that were dipped in the water during the
early part of the day ended by slightly warming it.

"We will let you slide down the steps," exclaimed the Marquis in an
undertone; and then he instructed Pierre to hold the patient with all his
strength under the arm-pits.

"Have no fear," replied the priest; "I will not let go."

M. Sabathier was then slowly lowered. You could now only see his back,
his poor painful back which swayed and swelled, mottled by the rippling
of a shiver. And when they dipped him his head fell back in a spasm, a
sound like the cracking of bones was heard, and breathing hard, he almost
stifled.

The chaplain, standing beside the bath, had begun calling with renewed
fervour: "Lord, heal our sick! Lord, heal our sick!"

M. de Salmon-Roquebert repeated the cry, which the regulations required
the hospitallers to raise at each fresh immersion. Pierre, therefore, had
to imitate his companion, and his pitiful feelings at the sight of so
much suffering were so intense that he regained some little of his faith.
It was long indeed since he had prayed like this, devoutly wishing that
there might be a God in heaven, whose omnipotence could assuage the
wretchedness of humanity. At the end of three or four minutes, however,
when with great difficulty they drew M. Sabathier, livid and shivering,
out of the bath, the young priest fell into deeper, more despairing
sorrow than ever at beholding how downcast, how overwhelmed the suffere