But to be able to read the book he wished to be under the lamp, and it was necessary that he should change seats with M.de Guersaint, whom the promise of a story had delighted as much as it did the ailing ones.

And when the young priest, after changing seats and declaring that he would be able to see well enough, at last opened the little book, a quiver of curiosity sped from one end of the carriage to the other, and every head was stretched out, lending ear with rapt attention.

Fortunately, Pierre had a clear, powerful voice and made himself distinctly heard above the wheels, which, now that the train travelled across a vast level plain, gave out but a subdued, rumbling sound.
Before beginning, however, the young priest had examined the book.

It was one of those little works of propaganda issued from the Catholic printing-presses and circulated in profusion throughout all Christendom.
Badly printed, on wretched paper, it was adorned on its blue cover with a little wood-cut of Our Lady of Lourdes, a naive design alike stiff and awkward.

The book itself was short, and half an hour would certainly suffice to read it from cover to cover without hurrying.
Accordingly, in his fine, clear voice, with its penetrating, musical tones, he began his perusal as follows:-- "It happened at Lourdes, a little town near the Pyrenees, on a Thursday, February 11, 1858.