ess slipped under
the ropes without being noticed. She had seated herself at the end of a
bench and, very quiet and motionless, did not occupy more room there than
a child. And her long face, with its weary features, the face of a woman
of two-and-thirty faded before her time, wore an expression of unlimited
sadness, infinite abandonment.

"And so," resumed M. Sabathier in a low voice, again addressing his wife
after attracting her attention by a slight movement of the chin, "it's
for the conversion of her husband that this lady prays. You came across
her this morning in a shop, didn't you?"

"Yes, yes," replied Madame Sabathier. "And, besides, I had some talk
about her with another lady who knows her. Her husband is a
commercial-traveller. He leaves her for six months at a time, and goes
about with other people. Oh! he's a very gay fellow, it seems, very nice,
and he doesn't let her want for money; only she adores him, she cannot
accustom herself to his neglect, and comes to pray the Blessed Virgin to
give him back to her. At this moment, it appears, he is close by, at
Luchon, with two ladies--two sisters."

M. Sabathier signed to his wife to stop. He was now looking at the
Grotto, again becoming a man of intellect, a professor whom questions of
art had formerly impassioned. "You see, my dear," he said, "they have
spoilt the Grotto by endeavouring to make it too beautiful. I am certain
it looked much better in its original wildness. It has lost its
characteristic features--and what a frightful shop they have stuck there,
on the left!"

However, he now experienced sudden remorse for his thoughtlessness.
Whilst he was chatting away, might not the Blessed Virgin be noticing one
of his neighbours, more fervent, more sedate than himself? Feeling
anxious on the point, he reverted to his customary modesty and patience,
and with dull, expressionless eyes again began waiting for the good
pleasure of Heaven.

Moreover, the sound of a fresh voice helped to bring him back to this
annihilation, in which nothing was left of the cultured reasoner that he
had formerly been. It was another preacher who had just entered the
pulpit, a Capuchin this time, whose guttural call, persistently repeated,
sent a tremor through the crowd.

"Holy Virgin of virgins, be blessed!"

"Holy Virgin of virgins, be blessed!"

"Holy Virgin of virgins, turn not thy face from thy children!"

"Holy Virgin of virgins, turn not thy face from thy child