than a man who is not. But
no amount of suggestion can possibly effect a cure
instantaneously. Tuberculosis is another such thing; certain
diseases of the heart---"

"I see. Go on."

"Well, then, science has fixed certain periods in all these
various matters which simply cannot be lessened beyond a certain
point. And miracle does not begin--authorized miracle, I
mean--unless these periods are markedly shortened. Mere mental
cures, therefore, do not come under the range of authorized
miracle at all--though, of course, in many cases where there has
been little or no suggestion, or where the temperament is not
receptive, practically speaking, the miraculous element is most
probably present. In the second class--organic nervous
diseases--no miracle is proclaimed unless the cure is
instantaneous, or very nearly so. In the third class, again, no
miracle is proclaimed unless the cure is either instantaneous, or
the period of it very considerably shortened beyond all known
examples of natural cure by suggestion."

"And you mean to say that such cures are frequent?"

The old priest smiled.

"Why, of course. There is an accumulation of evidence from the
past hundred years which----"

"Broken limbs?"

"Oh yes; there's the case of Pierre de Rudder, at Oostacker, in
the nineteenth century. That's the first of the series--the
first, I mean, that has been scientifically examined. It's in all
the old books."

"What was the matter with him?"

"Leg broken below the knee for eight years."

"And how long did the cure take?"

"Instantaneous."

There was silence again.

Monsignor was staring out and downwards at the flitting
meadow-land far below. A flock of white birds moved across the
darkening grey, like flying specks seen in the eye, yet it seemed
with extraordinary slowness and deliberation, so great was the
distance at which they flew. He sighed.

"You can examine the records," said the priest presently; "and,
better than that, you can examine some of the cases for yourself,
and the certificates. They follow still the old system which Dr.
Boissarie began nearly a century ago."

"What about Zola?" demanded Monsignor abruptly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Zola, the great French writer. I thought he had . . . had
advanced some very sharp criticisms of Lourdes."

"Er--when did he live?"

"Why, not long ago; nineteenth century, at the end."

Father Jervis shook his head, smiling.

"I've never heard of him," he sa