d Madame Vigneron with the most
minute instructions--what she was to do during the journey, how she was
to get back home on arriving in Paris, and what steps she was to take if
Gustave was to have another attack. Somewhat scared, she responded, in
all docility, to each recommendation: "Yes, yes, dear--of course, dear,
of course."

But all at once her husband's rage came back to him. "After all," he
shouted, "what I want to know is whether my return ticket be good or not!
I must know for certain! They must find that station-master for me!"

He was already on the point of rushing away through the crowd, when he
noticed Gustave's crutch lying on the platform. This was disastrous, and
he raised his eyes to heaven as though to call Providence to witness that
he would never be able to extricate himself from such awful
complications. And, throwing the crutch to his wife, he hurried off,
distracted and shouting, "There, take it! You forget everything!"

The sick pilgrims were now flocking into the station, and, as on the
occasion of their arrival, there was plenty of disorderly carting along
the platform and across the lines. All the abominable ailments, all the
sores, all the deformities, went past once more, neither their gravity
nor their number seeming to have decreased; for the few cures which had
been effected were but a faint inappreciable gleam of light amidst the
general mourning. They were taken back as they had come. The little
carts, laden with helpless old women with their bags at their feet,
grated over the rails. The stretchers on which you saw inflated bodies
and pale faces with glittering eyes, swayed amidst the jostling of the
throng. There was wild and senseless haste, indescribable confusion,
questions, calls, sudden running, all the whirling of a flock which
cannot find the entrance to the pen. And the bearers ended by losing
their heads, no longer knowing which direction to take amidst the warning
cries of the porters, who at each moment were frightening people,
distracting them with anguish. "Take care, take care over there! Make
haste! No, no, don't cross! The Toulouse train, the Toulouse train!"

Retracing his steps, Pierre again perceived the ladies, Madame de
Jonquiere and the others, still gaily chatting together. Lingering near
them, he listened to Berthaud, whom Father Fourcade had stopped, to
congratulate him on the good order which had been maintained throughout
the pilgrimage. The ex-public p