Then the whole train again sang a canticle--the rhymed story of Bernadette, that endless ballad of six times ten couplets, in which the Angelic Salutation ever returns as a refrain, all besetting and distracting, opening to the human mind the portals of the heaven of ecstasy:-- "It was the hour for ev'ning pray'r; Soft bells chimed on the chilly air.
Ave, ave, ave Maria! "The maid stood on the torrent's bank, A breeze arose, then swiftly sank.
Ave, ave, ave Maria! "And she beheld, e'en as it fell, The Virgin on Massabielle.
Ave, ave, ave Maria! "All white appeared the Lady chaste, A zone of Heaven round her waist.
Ave, ave, ave Maria! "Two golden roses, pure and sweet, Bloomed brightly on her naked feet.
Ave, ave, ave Maria! "Upon her arm, so white and round, Her chaplet's milky pearls were wound.
Ave, ave, ave Maria! "The maiden prayed till, from her eyes, The vision sped to Paradise.
Ave, ave, ave Maria!" THE SECOND DAY I.THE TRAIN ARRIVES IT was twenty minutes past three by the clock of the Lourdes railway station, the dial of which was illumined by a reflector.

Under the slanting roof sheltering the platform, a hundred yards or so in length, some shadowy forms went to and fro, resignedly waiting.

Only a red signal light peeped out of the black countryside, far away.
Two of the promenaders suddenly halted.

The taller of them, a Father of the Assumption, none other indeed than the Reverend Father Fourcade, director of the national pilgrimage, who had reached Lourdes on the previous day, was a man of sixty, looking superb in his black cloak with its large hood.

His fine head, with its clear, domineering eyes and thick grizzly beard, was the head of a general whom an intelligent determination to conquer inflames.