M.Sabathier jested with M.de Guersaint, and explained to him that, next October, when he had recovered the use of his legs, he should go on a trip to Rome--a journey which he had been postponing for fifteen years and more.
Madame Vetu, quite calmed, feeling nothing but a slight twinge in the stomach, imagined that she was hungry, and asked Madame de Jonquiere to let her dip some strips of bread in a glass of milk; whilst Elise Rouquet, forgetting her sores, ate some grapes, with face uncovered.

And in La Grivotte who was sitting up and Brother Isidore who had ceased moaning, all those fine stories had left a pleasant fever, to such a point that, impatient to be cured, they grew anxious to know the time.
For a minute also the man, the strange man, resuscitated.

Whilst Sister Hyacinthe was again wiping the cold sweat from his brow, he raised his eyelids, and a smile momentarily brightened his pallid countenance.

Yet once again he, also, had hoped.
Marie was still holding Pierre's fingers in her own small, warm hand.

It was seven o'clock, they were not due at Bordeaux till half-past seven; and the belated train was quickening its pace yet more and more, rushing along with wild speed in order to make up for the minutes it had lost.
The storm had ended by coming down, and now a gentle light of infinite purity fell from the vast clear heavens.
"Oh! how beautiful it is, Pierre--how beautiful it is!" Marie again repeated, pressing his hand with tender affection.