"Aves" followed one after the other, repeated by the crowd in a loud confused murmur.

Then, all at once, as Madame Vincent, who, pale with agony, had long been waiting, was admitted to the baths, carrying her dear burden, her little girl who looked like a waxen image of the child Christ, the Capuchin let himself fall upon his knees with his arms extended, and cried aloud: "Lord, heal our sick!" He raised this cry a dozen, twenty times, with a growing fury, and each time the crowd repeated it, growing more and more excited at each shout, till it sobbed and kissed the ground in a state of frenzy.

It was like a hurricane of delirium rushing by and laying every head in the dust.

Pierre was utterly distracted by the sob of suffering which arose from the very bowels of these poor folks--at first a prayer, growing louder and louder, then bursting forth like a demand in impatient, angry, deafening, obstinate accents, as though to compel the help of Heaven.

"Lord, heal our sick!"-- "Lord, heal our sick!" The shout soared on high incessantly.
An incident occurred, however; La Grivotte was weeping hot tears because they would not bathe her.