impossible to say exactly which argument predominated."

"It was, in fact, the grace of God," smiled the Doctor.

Dr. Boissarie, as also Dr. Cox, was extremely good to me. He is an
oldish man, with a keen, clever, wrinkled face; he is of middle-size,
and walks very slowly and deliberately; he is a fervent Catholic. He is
very sharp and businesslike, but there is an air of wonderful goodness
and kindness about him; he takes one by the arm in a very pleasant
manner; I have seen dilatory, rambling patients called to their senses
in an instant, yet never frightened.

Dr. Cox, who has been at Lourdes for fourteen years, is a typical
Englishman, ruddy, with a white moustache. His part is mostly
secretarial, it seems; though he too asks questions now and again. It
was he who gave me the "doctor's cross," and who later obtained for me
an even more exceptional favour, of which I shall speak in the proper
place. I heard a tale that he himself had been cured of some illness at
Lourdes, but I cannot vouch for it as true. I did not like to ask him
outright.

Presently from outside came the sound of organized singing, and the room
began to empty. The afternoon procession was coming. I ran to the window
that looks toward the Grotto; and there, sitting by an Assumptionist
Father--one of that Order who once had, officially, charge of the
Grotto, and now unofficially assists at it--I saw the procession go
past.

I have no idea of its numbers. I saw only beyond the single line of
heads outside the window, an interminable double stream of men go past,