She listened to the sounds, shaken and transported to hear how they
flooded the barren emptiness of the room with glory, how they filled her
heart full, full of happiness ... only if she were happy, why was she
crying, the tears running as fast as they could down her cheeks?
This was one of the remembered moments which brought nothing but a pang
of joy to Marise. When it came, the world about her brightened.
II
There was another, one of those which came very seldom, which brought
something deeper than pain or joy. This was the recollection of an
instant, just one instant, of the day when Maman let Soeur Ste. Lucie
take her to Lourdes. It was the feast of St. Louis, and Soeur Ste. Lucie
always went every year then. She had been awfully nice and jolly, the
way she always was with Marise, and it was fun to start off with her
early in the morning, at dawn, in the special excursion train. At
Lourdes it was fun, too, really exciting to be in such a monstrously
big crowd, oh, _what_ a crowd! She heard somebody tell Soeur Ste. Lucie
that there were thirty thousand pilgrims there that day. It amused
Marise very much to hear them called pilgrims and to think that she and
Soeur Ste. Lucie were counted as pilgrims, too. She had always thought
of "pilgrims" as people who landed on a stern and rock-bound coast and
began to fight with Indians; and nothing could be more unlike that than
the crowd at Lourdes, swimming in the dusty, yellow sunshine, everybody
dressed up in his best, walking around in groups, talking and singing.
Marise held on to the Sister's nice, soft, old hand and followed her
around from one thing to another, taking a good big drink of the water,
and kneeling down whenever Soeur Ste. Lucie stopped to pray before a
shrine. Marise didn't pray much, but watched the crowd, the endless
crowd shuffling slowly past. She was proud to be kneeling there beside a
Sister, who had the right of entrance everywhere, who opened any gate in
any railing she liked, and walked right in to say a prayer where the
common run of people didn't dare go.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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