But M. Chassaigne
shook his head. "No, no, my dear child," he replied. "I shall remain
here. They are here, they keep me here." He was speaking of his dear lost
ones. Then, very gently and lovingly, he said, "Farewell."
"Not farewell, my dear doctor; till we meet again."
"Yes, yes, farewell. The Commander was right, you know; nothing can be so
sweet as to die, but to die in order to live again."
Baron Suire was now giving orders for the removal of the white flags on
the foremost and hindmost carriages of the train; the shouts of the
railway /employes/ were ringing out in more and more imperious tones,
"Take your seats! take your seats!" and now came the supreme scramble,
the torrent of belated pilgrims rushing up distracted, breathless, and
covered with perspiration. Madame de Jonquiere and Sister Hyacinthe were
counting their party in the carriage. La Grivotte, Elise Rouquet, and
Sophie Couteau were all three there. Madame Sabathier, too, had taken her
seat in front of her husband, who, with his eyes half closed, was
patiently awaiting the departure. However, a voice inquired, "And Madame
Vincent, isn't she going back with us?"
Thereupon Sister Hyacinthe, who was leaning out of the window exchanging
a last smile with Ferrand, who stood at the door of the cantine van,
exclaimed: "Here she comes!"
Madame Vincent crossed the lines, rushed up, the last of all, breathless
and haggard.
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