One compartment was entirely occupied by women, ten pilgrims closely pressed together, young ones and old ones, all sadly, pitifully ugly.

And as nobody dared to open the windows on account of the consumptives in the carriage, the heat was soon felt and an unbearable odour arose, set free as it were by the jolting of the train as it went its way at express speed.
They had said their chaplets at Juvisy; and six o'clock was striking, and they were rushing like a hurricane past the station of Bretigny, when Sister Hyacinthe stood up.

It was she who directed the pious exercises, which most of the pilgrims followed from small, blue-covered books.
"The Angelus, my children," said she with a pleasant smile, a maternal air which her great youth rendered very charming and sweet.
Then the "Aves" again followed one another, and were drawing to an end when Pierre and Marie began to feel interested in two women who occupied the other corner seats of their compartment.

One of them, she who sat at Marie's feet, was a blonde of slender build and _bourgeoise_ appearance, some thirty and odd years of age, and faded before she had grown old.

She shrank back, scarcely occupying any room, wearing a dark dress, and showing colourless hair, and a long grief-stricken face which expressed unlimited self-abandonment, infinite sadness.