full length so that my head only emerged. That water had better not be
described. It is enough to say that people suffering from most of the
diseases known to man had bathed in it without ceasing for at least five
or six hours. Yet I can say, with entire sincerity, that I did not have
even the faintest physical repulsion, though commonly I hate dirt at
least as much as sin. It is said, too, that never in the history of
Lourdes has there been one case of disease traceable to infection from
the baths. The water was cold, but not unpleasantly. I lay there, I
suppose, about one minute, while the two priests and myself repeated off
the placard the prayers inscribed there. These were, for the most part,
petitions to Mary to pray. "_O Marie,_" they ended, "_conçue sans péché,
priez pour nous qui avons recours a vous!_"

As I dressed again after the bath, I had one more sight of the young
man. He was being led out by a kindly attendant, but his face was all
distorted with crying, and from his blind eyes ran down a stream of
terrible tears. It is unnecessary to say that I said a "Hail Mary" for
his soul at least.

As soon as I was ready, I went out and sat down for a while among the
recently bathed, and began to remind myself why _I_ had bathed.
Certainly I was not suffering from anything except a negligible ailment
or two. Neither did I do it out of curiosity, because I could have seen
without difficulty all the details without descending into that
appalling trough. I suppose it was just an act of devotion. Here was
water with a history behind it; water that was as undoubtedly used by
Almighty God for giving benefits to man as was the clay laid upon blind
eyes long ago near Siloe, or the water of Bethesda itself. And it is a
natural instinct to come as close as possible to things used by the
heavenly powers. I was extraordinarily glad I had bathed, and I have