each bearing a burning taper and singing as he came. There were persons
of every kind in that stream--groups of boys and young men, with their
priest beating time in the midst; middle-aged men and old men. I saw
again and again that kind of face which a foolish Briton is accustomed
to regard as absurd--a military, musketeer profile, immense moustaches
and imperial, and hair _en brosse_. Yet indeed there was nothing absurd.
It was terribly moving, and a lump rose in my throat, as I watched such
a sanguine bristling face as one of these, all alight with passion and
adoration. Such a man might be a grocer, or a local mayor, or a duke; it
was all one; he was a child of Mary; and he loved her with all his
heart, and Gabriel's salute was on his lips. Then the priests began to
come; long lines of them in black; then white cottas; then gleams of
purple; then a pectoral cross or two; and last the great canopy swaying
with all its bells and tassels.




III.


Now, it is at the close of the afternoon procession that the sick more
usually are healed. I crossed the Bureau to the other window that looks
on to what I will call the square, and began to watch for the
reappearance of the procession on that side. In front of me was a dense
crowd of heads, growing more dense every step up to the barriers that
enclose the open space in the midst. It was beyond those barriers, as I
knew, that the sick were laid ready for the passing by of Jesus of
Nazareth. On the right rose the wide sweep of steps and terraces leading
up to the basilica, and every line of stone was crowned with heads. Even