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Updated: May 26, 2025
"And so," resumed M. Sabathier in a low voice, again addressing his wife after attracting her attention by a slight movement of the chin, "it's for the conversion of her husband that this lady prays. You came across her this morning in a shop, didn't you?" "Yes, yes," replied Madame Sabathier. "And, besides, I had some talk about her with another lady who knows her.
Not merely the complexity of the question, but a half-conscious distaste of attempting to face it, set him reading very slowly and laboriously, for his French was little more than fragmentary recollection, the first few pages of the life of this buried Sabathier. But with a disinclination almost amounting to aversion he made very slow progress.
When M. Sabathier, who had visited Lourdes for six years past, perceived him, he became quite gay. "Ah!" said he, "it is you, Commander!" Commander was perhaps the old man's name. But as he was decorated with a broad red riband, he was possibly called Commander on account of his decoration, albeit the latter was that of a mere chevalier. Nobody exactly knew his story.
M. de Guersaint had meantime risen from his seat, and, leaning on the low partition between the compartments, he was glancing at M. Sabathier, when all of a sudden Marie called: "Oh! father, father, look at this notch in the seat; it was the ironwork of my box that made it!"
Big tears coursed down the cheeks of Madame Vincent, a muttered oath escaped M. Sabathier usually so resigned, and Brother Isidore, La Grivotte, and Madame Vetu seemed to have become inanimate, mere waifs carried along by a torrent.
But at that moment his sister appeared in the doorway to say that supper was ready. And it was not until Herbert was actually engaged in carving a cold chicken that he followed up his advantage. 'Mr. Lawford, Grisel, he said, 'has just enriched our jaded language with a new verb to Sabathier.
The two hospitallers who had been bathing him had the greatest difficulty to put on his shirt, fearful as they were that if he were suddenly shaken he might expire in their arms. "You will help me, Monsieur l'Abbe, won't you?" asked another hospitaller as he began to undress M. Sabathier.
"But it is a mere nothing, monsieur, for there have been far more marvellous cures than that. Do you know the story of Pierre de Rudder, a Belgian working-man?" Everybody had again begun to listen. "This man," continued M. Sabathier, "had his leg broken by the fall of a tree.
He was able to walk without crutches, and the doctor said to him: 'Your leg is like that of a new-born child. Yes, indeed, a perfectly new leg." Nobody spoke, but the listeners exchanged glances of ecstasy. "And, by the way," resumed M. Sabathier, "it is like the story of Louis Bouriette, a quarryman, one of the first of the Lourdes miracles. Do you know it?
A cold light fell from the high windows of the building and constant dampness reigned there, with the mouldy smell like that of a cellar dripping with water. At last M. Sabathier was stripped, divested of all garments save a little apron which had been fastened about his loins for decency's sake. "Pray don't plunge me," said he; "let me down into the water by degrees."
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