Now she was in the square in front of the cathedral, but a mighty mob of many thousands stood between her and the high, gray portals which, wide open as they were, could not hold the human stream flowing into them. The beadles in their red garments, with long staffs in their hands, stood like fiery cherubim at the entrance to the paradise, and ordered the crowd, throwing them into line. The mass moved slowly forward. Margret stood in the last rows, crowded and pushed from all sides. Finally the human wall in front of her gave way in one spot and she slipped through, not heeding the elbows and shoulders stretched out to hold her back. She was almost at the portals, but now there was no further movement, the mob stood motionless. There was no going backward or forward, the beadles held their staffs before the entrance. There was not room for another soul to get in at the door. The ringing of the bells ceased with a long-drawn sigh; rich organ notes boomed through the air. The incense wafted upward. “O vestis inconsutilis.” With a singing as of angels’ voices, the sounds wafted out from the church into the sun-bathed air, solemnly soaring high over the heads of the massed community. The heads bowed as a ripe field of grain bows under the breath of the wind; all sank to their knees and beat their hands to their breasts. “O vestis inconsutilis” came as in one breath from a thousand lips. Then there was silence, as all listened. Within the cathedral the singing had stopped, the voice of the priest was heard. Then there was silence again. “Now they are showing the Sacred Coat--now they are touching it.” Margret heard whispering around her. “Now they will be freed from all their sins and the sick ones will be made well.” Oh, those happy ones! Heavy tears rolled over Margret’s cheeks. She had wandered so far on her tired feet, and now she stood so near the door, and yet could not get in to the Sacred Coat. Bitter sobs shook her breast. A couple of well-dressed gentlemen beside her began to notice her. “What are you crying for, girl?” asked one of them in a friendly tone. She was startled at first, then she stammered: “I--I--I’ve come from so far--from way up in the Eifel--I got a sick mother at home--Here’s her shirt”--she drew an end of it out of the bundle--“I was to touch the Sacred Coat with it--And now I can’t get in at all--Oh, dear Lord Jesus--and--and--and now my mother won’t get well at all.” The gentleman bit his lips and nudged his companion, who put his hat to his face and turned away. Then the first gentleman spoke again: “My dear child, you needn’t cry so. It isn’t at all necessary that you should go into the church. Step a little this way, now raise yourself up as high as you can--there, do you see, inside the church, something red in front of the altar? That is the Sacred Coat. Now they are moving it. Can you see it?”