Among the kneeling mass were many soldiers with bandaged heads, kepis in hand and tearful eyes.
Up and down the double staircase of the basilica were flitting women, clad in white, with spotless headdresses that fluttered in such a way that they appeared like flying doves.

These were the nurses and Sisters of Charity guiding the steps of the injured.

Desnoyers thought he recognized Marguerite in every one of them, but the prompt disillusion following each of these discoveries soon made him doubtful about the outcome of his journey.

She was not in Lourdes, either.

He would never find her in that France so immeasurably expanded by the war that it had converted every town into a hospital.
His afternoon explorations were no more successful.