might weep, now went away. "Yes, yes, my poor woman, we must hope, still
hope," said he, as he left her there among the scattered benches, in that
deserted, malodorous hall, so motionless in her painful maternal passion
as to hold her own breath, fearful lest the heaving of her bosom should
awaken the poor little sufferer. And in deepest grief, with closed lips,
she prayed ardently.

On Pierre returning to Marie's side, the girl inquired of him: "Well, and
those roses? Are there any near here?"

He did not wish to sadden her by telling her what he had seen, so he
simply answered: "No, I have searched the lawns; there are none."

"How singular!" she rejoined, in a thoughtful way. "The perfume is both
so sweet and penetrating. You can smell it, can't you? At this moment it
is wonderfully strong, as though all the roses of Paradise were flowering
around us in the darkness."

A low exclamation from her father interrupted her. M. de Guersaint had
risen to his feet again on seeing some specks of light shine out above
the gradient ways on the left side of the Basilica. "At last! Here they
come!" said he.

It was indeed the head of the procession again appearing; and at once the
specks of light began to swarm and extend in long, wavering double files.
The darkness submerged everything except these luminous points, which
seemed to be at a great elevation, and to emerge, as it were, from the
black depths of the Unknown. And at the same time the everlasting
canticle was again heard, but so lightly, for the procession was far
away, that it seemed as yet merely like the rustle of a coming storm,