And then all the women appeared again: Madame Maze gliding along in
silence; Madame Vincent raising her dear little girl in her outstretched
arms and dreading lest she should hear her cry out; Madame Vetu, whom it
had been necessary to push into the train, after rousing her from her
stupefying torment; and Elise Rouquet, who was quite drenched through her
obstinacy in endeavouring to drink from the tap, and was still wiping her
monstrous face. Whilst each returned to her place and the carriage filled
once more, Marie listened to her father, who had come back delighted with
his stroll to a pointsman's little house beyond the station, whence a
really pleasant stretch of landscape could be discerned.

"Shall we lay you down again at once?" asked Pierre, sorely distressed by
the pained expression on Marie's face.

"Oh no, no, by-and-by!" she replied. "I shall have plenty of time to hear
those wheels roaring in my head as though they were grinding my bones."

Then, as Ferrand seemed on the point of returning to the cantine van,
Sister Hyacinthe begged him to take another look at the strange man
before he went off. She was still waiting for Father Massias, astonished
at the inexplicable delay in his arrival, but not yet without hope, as
Sister Claire des Anges had not returned.

"Pray, Monsieur Ferrand," said she, "tell me if this unfortunate man is
in any immediate danger."

The young doctor again looked at the sufferer, felt him, and listened to
his breathing. Then with a gesture of discouragement he answered in a low
voice, "I feel convinced that you will not get him to Lourdes alive."