ome down by the gradient way on the left, and watch
it as it passed between the lawns to the new bridge and back again.
Moreover, a delightful freshness prevailed there by reason of the
vicinity of the Gave. There was nobody there as yet, and one could enjoy
deep peacefulness in the dense shade which fell from the big plane-trees
bordering the path.

In his impatience to see the first tapers reappear as soon as they should
have passed behind the Basilica, M. de Guersaint had risen on tiptoe. "I
see nothing as yet," he muttered, "so whatever the regulations may be I
shall sit on the grass for a moment. I've no strength left in my legs."
Then, growing anxious about his daughter, he inquired: "Shall I cover you
up? It is very cool here."

"Oh, no! I'm not cold, father!" answered Marie; "I feel so happy. It is
long since I breathed such sweet air. There must be some roses
about--can't you smell that delicious perfume?" And turning to Pierre she
asked: "Where are the roses, my friend? Can you see them?"

When M. de Guersaint had seated himself on the grass near the little
vehicle, it occurred to Pierre to see if there was not some bed of roses
near at hand. But is was in vain that he explored the dark lawns; he
could only distinguish sundry clumps of evergreens. And, as he passed in
front of the pilgrims' shelter-house on his way back, curiosity prompted
him to enter it.

This building formed a long and lofty hall, lighted by large windows upon
two sides. With bare walls and a stone pavement, it contained no other
furniture than a number of benches, which stood here and there in
haphazard fashion. There was neither table nor shelf, so that the
homeless pilgrims who had sought refuge there had piled up their baskets,
parcels, and valises in the window embrasures. Moreover, the place was
apparently empty; the poor folk that it sheltered had no doubt joined the
procession. Nevertheless, although the door stood wide open, an almost
unbearable smell reigned inside. The very walls seemed impregnated with
an odour of poverty, and in spite of the bright sunshine which had
prevailed during the day, the flagstones were quite damp, soiled and
soaked with expectorations, spilt wine, and grease. This mess had been
made by the poorer pilgrims, who with their dirty skins and wretched rags
lived in the hall, eating and sleeping in heaps on the benches. Pierre
speedily came to the conclusion that the pleasant smell of roses must
emanate