He had no relative at
Lourdes, where nobody knew anything either of his former life or his
family. For three years he had lived there happily on the salary attached
to his little post at the station, and now he at last beheld his ardent,
his only desire, approaching fulfilment--the desire that he might depart
and fall into the eternal sleep. His eyes expressed the great joy he felt
at being so near his end.
"Have you any wish to make known to us?" resumed Abbe Judaine. "Cannot we
be useful to you in any way?"
No, no; his eyes replied that he was all right, well pleased. For three
years past he had never got up in the morning without hoping that by
night time he would be sleeping in the cemetery. Whenever he saw the sun
shine he was wont to say in an envious tone: "What a beautiful day for
departure!" And now that death was at last at hand, ready to deliver him
from his hateful existence, it was indeed welcome.
"I can do nothing, science is powerless. He is condemned," said Doctor
Chassaigne in a low, bitter tone to the old priest, who begged him to
attempt some effort.
However, at that same moment it chanced that an aged woman, a pilgrim of
fourscore years, who had lost her way and knew not whither she was going,
entered the shed. Lame and humpbacked, reduced to the stature of
childhood's days, afflicted with all the ailments of extreme old age, she
was dragging herself along with the assistance of a stick, and at her
side was slung a can full of Lourdes water, which she was taking away
with her, in the hope of yet prolonging her old age, in spite of all its
frightful decay.
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