already straining his wrists. When the slanting sun fell upon him in
front, the monstrance itself looked like another sun. Choir-boys meantime
were swinging censers in the blinding glow which gave splendour to the
entire procession; and, finally, in the rear, there was a confused mass
of pilgrims, a flock-like tramping of believers and sightseers all
aflame, hurrying along, and blocking the track with their ever-rolling
waves.

Father Massias had returned to the pulpit a moment previously; and this
time he had devised another pious exercise. After the burning cries of
faith, hope, and love that he threw forth, he all at once commanded
absolute silence, in order that one and all might, with closed lips,
speak to God in secret for a few minutes. These sudden spells of silence
falling upon the vast crowd, these minutes of mute prayer, in which all
souls unbosomed their secrets, were deeply, wonderfully impressive. Their
solemnity became formidable; you heard desire, the immense desire for
life, winging its flight on high. Then Father Massias invited the sick
alone to speak, to implore God to grant them what they asked of His
almighty power. And, in response, came a pitiful lamentation, hundreds of
tremulous, broken voices rising amidst a concert of sobs. "Lord Jesus, if
it please Thee, Thou canst cure me!"--"Lord Jesus take pity on Thy child,
who is dying of love!"--"Lord Jesus, grant that I may see, grant that I
may hear, grant that I may walk!" And, all at once, the shrill voice of a
little girl, light and vivacious as the notes of a flute, rose above the
universal sob, repeating in the distance: "Save the others, save the
others, Lord Jesus!" Tears streamed from every eye; these supplications
upset all hearts, threw the hardest into the frenzy of charity, into a
sublime disorder which would have impelled them to open their breasts
with both hands, if by doing so they could have given their neighbours
their health and youth. And then Father Massias, not letting this