whence he came, what his illness was, what could be done for him, he gave
no information, but still and ever continued moaning, "Oh, how I
suffer--how I suffer!"

Sister Hyacinthe grew restless with impatience. Ah, if she had only been
in the same compartment with him! And she resolved that she would change
her seat at the first station they should stop at. Only there would be no
stoppage for a long time. The position was becoming terrible, the more so
as the man's head again fell back.

"He is dying, he is dying!" repeated the frightened voice.

What was to be done, /mon Dieu/? The Sister was aware that one of the
Fathers of the Assumption, Father Massias, was in the train with the Holy
Oils, ready to administer extreme unction to the dying; for every year
some of the patients passed away during the journey. But she did not dare
to have recourse to the alarm signal. Moreover, in the /cantine/ van
where Sister Saint Francois officiated, there was a doctor with a little
medicine chest. If the sufferer should survive until they reached
Poitiers, where there would be half an hour's stoppage, all possible help
might be given to him.

But on the other hand he might suddenly expire. However, they ended by
becoming somewhat calmer. The man, though still unconscious, began to
breathe in a more regular manner, and seemed to fall asleep.

"To think of it, to die before getting there," murmured Marie with a
shudder, "to die in sight of the promised land!" And as her father sought
to reassure her she added: "I am suffering--I am suffering dreadfully
myself."