in that far-away
rural region, hemmed in by mountains.

At last, on one seventh of January, Bernadette had just reached her
fourteenth birthday, when her parents, finding that she learnt nothing at
Bartres, resolved to bring her back to Lourdes for good, in order that
she might diligently study her catechism, and in this wise seriously
prepare herself for her first communion. And so it happened that she had
already been at Lourdes some fifteen or twenty days, when on February 11,
a Thursday, cold and somewhat cloudy--

But Pierre could carry his narrative no further, for Sister Hyacinthe had
risen to her feet and was vigorously clapping her hands. "My children,"
she exclaimed, "it is past nine o'clock. Silence! silence!"

The train had indeed just passed Lamothe, and was rolling with a dull
rumble across a sea of darkness--the endless plains of the Landes which
the night submerged. For ten minutes already not a sound ought to have
been heard in the carriage, one and all ought to have been sleeping or
suffering uncomplainingly. However, a mutiny broke out.

"Oh! Sister!" exclaimed Marie, whose eyes were sparkling, "allow us just
another short quarter of an hour! We have got to the most interesting
part."

Ten, twenty voices took up the cry: "Oh yes, Sister, please do let us
have another short quarter of an hour!"

They all wished to hear the continuation, burning with as much curiosity
as though they had not known the story, so captivated were they by the
touches of compassionate human feeling which Pierre introduced into his
narrative. Their glances never left him, all their heads were stretched
towards him, fantastically illumined by the flickering light of the
lamps. And it was not only the sick who displayed this interest; the ten
women occupying the compartment at the far end of the carriage had also
become impassioned, and, happy at not missing a single word, turned their
poor ugly faces now beautified by naive faith.

"No, I cannot!" Sister Hyacinthe at first declared; "the rules are very
strict--you must be silent."

However, she weakened, she herself feeling so interested in the tale that
she could detect her heart beating under her stomacher. Then Marie again
repeated her request in an entreating tone; whilst her father, M. de
Guersaint, who had listened like one hugely amused, declared that they
would all fall ill if the story were not continued. And thereupon, seeing
Madame de Jonquiere smile with a