At length, in despair at these delays and extremely anxious about Madame
Vetu, she was able to get Ferrand away. Still, the Brother's state filled
her with pity; and, as they ascended the stairs, she questioned the
doctor, asking him if there were really no more hope. The other made a
gesture expressive of absolute hopelessness. It was madness to come to
Lourdes when one was in such a condition. However, he hastened to add,
with a smile: "I beg your pardon, Sister. You know that I am unfortunate
enough not to be a believer."

But she smiled in her turn, like an indulgent friend who tolerates the
shortcomings of those she loves. "Oh! that doesn't matter," she replied.
"I know you; you're all the same a good fellow. Besides, we see so many
people, we go amongst such pagans that it would be difficult to shock
us."

Up above, in the Sainte-Honorine Ward, they found Madame Vetu still
moaning, a prey to most intolerable suffering. Madame de Jonquiere and
Madame Desagneaux had remained beside the bed, their faces turning pale,
their hearts distracted by that death-cry, which never ceased. And when
they consulted Ferrand in a whisper, he merely replied, with a slight
shrug of the shoulders, that she was a lost woman, that it was only a
question of hours, perhaps merely of minutes. All he could do was to
stupefy her also, in order to ease the atrocious death agony which he
foresaw. She was watching him, still conscious, and also very obedient,
never refusing the medicine offered her. Like the others, she now had but
one ardent desire--to go back to the Grotto--and she gave expression to
it in the stammering accents of a child who fears that its prayer may not
be granted: "To the Grotto--will you? To the Grotto!"