Ah! Blessed Virgin, Powerful Virgin, what a miracle indeed if such an ill were cured! "We must not think of ourselves, my children, if we wish to get well," resumed Sister Hyacinthe, who still retained her encouraging smile.
And then she made them say the second chaplet, the five sorrowful mysteries: Jesus in the Garden of Olives, Jesus scourged, Jesus crowned with thorns, Jesus carrying the cross, and Jesus crucified.

Afterwards came the canticle: "In thy help, Virgin, do I put my trust." They had just passed through Blois; for three long hours they had been rolling onward; and Marie, who had averted her eyes from Elise Rouquet, now turned them upon a man who occupied a corner seat in the compartment on her left, that in which Brother Isidore was lying.

She had noticed this man several times already.

Poorly clad in an old black frock-coat, he looked still young, although his sparse beard was already turning grey; and, short and emaciated, he seemed to experience great suffering, his fleshless, livid face being covered with sweat.

However, he remained motionless, ensconced in his corner, speaking to nobody, but staring straight before him with dilated eyes.