Others, restless with insomnia, turned over and over, stifling their sobs and gazing fixedly into the darkness.
And, with a shudder born of all the mystery he had evoked, Pierre, distracted, no longer master of himself in that delirious sphere of fraternal suffering, ended by hating his very mind, and, drawn into close communion with all those humble folks, sought to believe like them.

What could be the use of that physiological inquiry into Bernadette's case, so full of gaps and intricacies?
Why should he not accept her as a messenger from the spheres beyond, as one of the elect chosen for the divine mystery?
Doctors were but ignorant men with rough and brutal hands, and it would be so delightful to fall asleep in childlike faith, in the enchanted gardens of the impossible.

And for a moment indeed he surrendered himself, experiencing a delightful feeling of comfort, no longer seeking to explain anything, but accepting the Visionary with her sumptuous _cortege_ of miracles, and relying on God to think and determine for him.

Then he looked out through the window, which they did not dare to open on account of the consumptive patients, and beheld the immeasurable night which enwrapped the country across which the train was fleeing.

The storm must have burst forth there; the sky was now of an admirable nocturnal purity, as though cleansed by the masses of fallen water.