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.

Pierre hastened to give his services, and found that the attendant,
discharging such humble duties, was none other than the Marquis de
Salmon-Roquebert whom M. de Guersaint had pointed out to him on the way
from the station to the hospital that morning. A man of forty, with a
large, aquiline, knightly nose set in a long face, the Marquis was the
last representative of one of the most ancient and illustrious families
of France. Possessing a large fortune, a regal mansion in the Rue de
Lille at Paris, and vast estates in Normandy, he came to Lourdes each
year, for the three days of the national pilgrimage, influenced solely by
his benevolent feelings, for he had no religious zeal and simply observed
the rites of the Church because it was customary for noblemen to do so.
And he obstinately declined any high functions. Resolved to remain a
hospitaller, he had that year assumed the duty of bathing the patients,
exhausting the strength of his arms, employing his fingers from morning
till night in handling rags and re-applying dressings to sores.

"Be careful," he said to Pierre; "take off the stockings very slowly.
Just now, some flesh came away when they were taking off the things of
that poor fellow who is being dressed again, over yonder."

Then, leaving M. Sabathier for a moment in order to put on the shoes of
the unhappy sufferer whom he alluded to, the Marquis found the left shoe
wet inside. Some matter had flowed into the fore part of it, and he had