her heart: "We were fourteen at home, at Saint Jacut, near Vannes. He,
big as he was, has always been delicate, and that was why he remained
with our priest, who ended by placing him among the Christian Brothers.
The elder ones took over the property, and, for my part, I preferred
going out to service. Yes, it was a lady who took me with her to Paris,
five years ago already. Ah! what a lot of trouble there is in life!
Everyone has so much trouble!"

"You are quite right, my girl," replied Madame Sabathier, looking the
while at her husband, who was devoutly repeating each of Father Massias's
appeals.

"And then," continued Marthe, "there I learned last month that Isidore,
who had returned from a hot climate where he had been on a mission, had
brought a bad sickness back with him. And, when I ran to see him, he told
me he should die if he did not leave for Lourdes, but that he couldn't
make the journey, because he had nobody to accompany him. Then, as I had
eighty francs saved up, I gave up my place, and we set out together. You
see, madame, if I am so fond of him, it's because he used to bring me
gooseberries from the parsonage, whereas all the others beat me."

She relapsed into silence for a moment, her countenance swollen by grief,
and her poor eyes so scorched by watching that no tears could come from
them. Then she began to stutter disjointed words: "Look at him, madame.
It fills one with pity. Ah! my God, his poor cheeks, his poor chin, his
poor face--"

It was, in fact, a lamentable spectacle. Madame Sabathier's heart was
quite upset when she observed Brother Isidore so yellow, cadaverous,
steeped in a cold sweat of agony. Above the sheet he still only showed