The breath of superstition had sufficed to make
humanity flock thither, to attract abundance of money, and to corrupt
this honest corner of the earth forever. Where the candid lily had
formerly bloomed there now grew the carnal rose, in the new loam of
cupidity and enjoyment. Bethlehem had become Sodom since an innocent
child had seen the Virgin.
"Eh? What did I tell you?" exclaimed Madame Majeste, perceiving that
Pierre was comparing her niece with the portrait. "Apolline is Bernadette
all over!"
The young girl approached with her amiable smile, flattered at first by
the comparison.
"Let's see, let's see!" said Abbe des Hermoises, with an air of lively
interest.
He took the photograph in his turn, compared it with the girl, and then
exclaimed in amazement: "It's wonderful; the same features. I had not
noticed it before. Really I'm delighted--"
"Still I fancy she had a larger nose," Apolline ended by remarking.
The Abbe then raised an exclamation of irresistible admiration: "Oh! you
are prettier, much prettier, that's evident. But that does not matter,
anyone would take you for two sisters."
Pierre could not refrain from laughing, he thought the remark so
peculiar. Ah! poor Bernadette was absolutely dead, and she had no sister.
She could not have been born again; it would have been impossible for her
to exist in the region of crowded life and passion which she had made.
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