arrival of the trains, dragging his foot along and leaning upon his
stick, whilst expressing his astonishment and reproaching the ailing ones
for their intense desire to be made whole and sound again.

This was the third year that he had seen M. Sabathier arrive, and all his
anger fell upon him. "What! you have come back _again_!" he exclaimed.
"Well, you _must_ be desirous of living this hateful life! But
_sacrebleu_! go and die quietly in your bed at home. Isn't that the best
thing that can happen to anyone?"

M. Sabathier evinced no anger, but laughed, exhausted though he was by
the handling to which he had been subjected during his removal from the
carriage. "No, no," said he, "I prefer to be cured."

"To be cured, to be cured! That's what they all ask for. They travel
hundreds of leagues and arrive in fragments, howling with pain, and all
this to be cured--to go through every worry and every suffering again.
Come, monsieur, you would be nicely caught if, at your age and with your
dilapidated old body, your Blessed Virgin should be pleased to restore
the use of your legs to you. What would you do with them, _mon Dieu?_
What pleasure would you find in prolonging the abomination of old age for
a few years more? It's much better to die at once, while you are like
that! Death is happiness!"

He spoke in this fashion, not as a believer who aspires to the delicious
reward of eternal life, but as a weary man who expects to fall into
nihility, to enjoy the great everlasting peace of being no more.

Whilst M. Sabathier was gaily shrugging his shoulders as though he had a
child to deal with, Abbe Judaine, who had at last secured his banner,
came by and stopped for a moment in order that he might gently scold the
Commander, with whom he also was well acquainted.

"Don't blaspheme, my dear friend," he said. "It is an offence against God
to refuse life and to treat health with contempt. If you yourself had
listened to me, you would have asked the Blessed Virgin to cure your leg
before now."

At this the Commander became angry. "My leg! The Virgin can do nothing to
it! I'm quite at my ease. May death come and may it all be over forever!
When the time comes to die you turn your face to the wall and you
die--it's simple enough."

The old priest interrupted him, however. Pointing to Marie, who was lying
on her box listening to them, he exclaimed: "You tell all our sick to go
home and die--even mademoiselle, eh? She who is fu