I hear Thee not--Thou dost not heed me." Durtal was silent.

Then he went on,-- "I am wrong to address Thee thus," he said.

"Thou dost not carry us in Thine arms unless we be unable to walk; Thou hast care and caresses for the poor soul born anew by conversion; but when it can stand it is set down on the ground, and Thou lookest on while it makes trial of its strength.
"This is meet and right; but it does alter the fact that the memory of those celestial alleviations, those first, lost joys is crushing to the soul.
"O Holy Virgin, Holy Virgin, have pity on the rickety souls that struggle on so painfully when they are no longer upheld by Thee! Have pity on the bruised souls to whom every effort is painful; on the souls whom nothing can console, to whom everything is affliction! Take pity on the homeless, outcast souls, the wandering souls, unable to settle and dwell with their kind, the tender, budding souls! Take pity on all souls such as mine! Have pity on me!" And before quitting the Mother he would often visit Her in those depths where, since the Middle Ages, the faithful no longer seek her; he would light an end of taper, and, turning aside from the nave of the crypt, follow the curved line of the wall along the entrance passage as far as the sacristy of this underground church, where in the ponderous stone-work was a door strengthened with iron-work.
Through and down a little flight of steps, he reached a cellar which was the ancient martyrium where, of old, in time of war the ciborium was concealed.

An altar stood in the middle of this well, dedicated in the name of Saint Lubin.

In the crypt the distant hum of the bells, the sounds of life in the cathedral above, could still be heard; here, nothing! It was like being in the tomb.