ow, flowered two golden roses, the mystic roses of this
divine mother's immaculate flesh.

Where was it that Bernadette had seen this Blessed Virgin, of such
traditionally simple composition, unadorned by a single jewel, having but
the primitive grace imagined by the painters of a people in its
childhood? In which illustrated book belonging to her foster-mother's
brother, the good priest, who read such attractive stories, had she
beheld this Virgin? Or in what picture, or what statuette, or what
stained-glass window of the painted and gilded church where she had spent
so many evenings whilst growing up? And whence, above all things, had
come those golden roses poised on the Virgin's feet, that piously
imagined florescence of woman's flesh--from what romance of chivalry,
from what story told after catechism by the Abbe Ader, from what
unconscious dream indulged in under the shady foliage of Bartres, whilst
ever and ever repeating that haunting Angelic Salutation?

Pierre's voice had acquired a yet more feeling tone, for if he did not
say all these things to the simple-minded folks who were listening to
him, still the human explanation of all these prodigies which the feeling
of doubt in the depths of his being strove to supply, imparted to his
narrative a quiver of sympathetic, fraternal love. He loved Bernadette
the better for the great charm of her hallucination--that lady of such
gracious access, such perfect amiability, such politeness in appearing
and disappearing so appropriately. At first the great light would show
itself, then the vision took form, came and went, leant forward, moved
about, floating imperceptibly, with ethereal lightness; and when it
vanished the glow lingered for yet another moment, and then disappeared
like a star fading away. No lady in this world could have such a white
and rosy face, with a beauty so akin to that of the Virgins on the
picture-cards given to children at their first communions. And it was
strange that the eglantine of the Grotto did not even hurt her adorable
bare feet blooming with golden flowers.

Pierre, however, at once proceeded to recount the other apparitions. The
fourth and fifth occurred on the Friday and the Saturday; but the Lady,
who shone so brightly and who had not yet told her name, contented
herself on these occasions with smiling and saluting without pronouncing
a word. On the Sunday, however, she wept, and said to Bernadette, "Pray
for sinners." On the Mond