Another hour went by, two more canticles had just been sung, and the stations of Toury and Les Aubrais had been left behind, when, at Beaugency, they at last ceased their chat, on hearing Sister Hyacinthe clap her hands and intonate in her fresh, sonorous voice: "_Parce, Domine, parce populo tuo_." And then the chant went on; all voices became mingled in that ever-surging wave of prayer which stilled pain, excited hope, and little by little penetrated the entire being, harassed by the haunting thought of the grace and cure which one and all were going to seek so far away.
However, as Pierre sat down again, he saw that Marie was very pale, and had her eyes closed.

By the painful contraction of her features he could tell that she was not asleep.

"Are you in great suffering ?" he asked.
"Yes, yes, I suffer dreadfully.

I shall never last to the end.

It is this incessant jolting." She moaned, raised her eyelids, and, half-fainting, remained in a sitting posture, her eyes turned on the other sufferers.