lets, to which the ever recurring Angelic Salutation
serves as a refrain--a prolonged lullaby slowly besetting one until it
ends by penetrating one's entire being, transporting one into ecstatic
sleep, in delicious expectancy of a miracle.

II. PIERRE AND MARIE

THE green landscapes of Poitou were now defiling before them, and Abbe
Pierre Froment, gazing out of the window, watched the trees fly away
till, little by little, he ceased to distinguish them. A steeple appeared
and then vanished, and all the pilgrims crossed themselves. They would
not reach Poitiers until twelve-thirty-five, and the train was still
rolling on amid the growing weariness of that oppressive, stormy day.
Falling into a deep reverie, the young priest no longer heard the words
of the canticle, which sounded in his ears merely like a slow, wavy
lullaby.

Forgetfulness of the present had come upon him, an awakening of the past
filled his whole being. He was reascending the stream of memory,
reascending it to its source. He again beheld the house at Neuilly, where
he had been born and where he still lived, that home of peace and toil,
with its garden planted with a few fine trees, and parted by a quickset
hedge and palisade from the garden of the neighbouring house, which was
similar to his own. He was again three, perhaps four, years old, and
round a table, shaded by the big horse-chestnut tree he once more beheld
his father, his mother, and his elder brother at _dejeuner_. To his
father, Michel Froment, he could give no distinct lineaments; he pictured
him but faintly, vaguely, renowned as an illustrious chemist, bearing the
title of Member of the Institute, and leading a cloistered life in the
laboratory which he had installed in that secluded, deserted suburb.
However he could plainly see his first brother Guillaume, then fourteen
years of age, whom some holiday had brought from college that morning,
and then and even more vividly his mother, so gentle and so quiet, with
eyes so full of active kindliness. Later on he learnt what anguish had
racked that religious soul, that believing woman who, from esteem and
gratitude, had resignedly accepted marriage with an unbeliever, her
senior by fifteen years, to whom her relatives were indebted for great
services. He, Pierre, the tardy offspring of this union, born when his
father was already near his fiftieth year, had only known his mother as a
respectful, conquered woman in the presence of her h