No, Lourdes was not gone. For there, high on a hill, above where the
holy city lay, stood the cross we had seen first upon our entrance,
telling us that if health is a gift of God, it is not the greatest; that
the Physician of souls, who healed the sick, and without whom not one
sparrow falls to the ground, and not one pang is suffered, Himself had
not where to lay His head, and died in pain upon the Tree.

And even as I looked we wheeled a corner, and the cross was gone.

* * * * *

How is it possible to end such a story without bathos? I think it is not
possible, yet I must end it. An old French priest said one day at
Lourdes, to one of those with whom I travelled, that he feared that in
these times the pilgrims did not pray so much as they once did, and that
this was a bad sign. He spoke also of France as a whole, and its fall.
My friend said to him that, in her opinion, if these pilgrims could but
be led as an army to Paris--an army, that is, with no weapons except
their Rosaries--the country could be retaken in a day.

Now, I do not know whether the pilgrims once prayed more than they do
now; I only know that I never saw any one pray so much; and I cannot
help agreeing with my friend that, if this power could be organized, we
should hear little more of the apostasy of France. Even as it is, I
cannot understand the superior attitude that Christian Englishmen take
up with regard to France. It is true that in many districts religion is
on a downward course, that the churches are neglected, and that even
infidelity is becoming a fashion;[7] but I wonder very much whether, on
the whole, taking Lourdes into account, the average piety of France, is