I hadn't time to look at it; but M.Meurot told me it was one of those odd little attacks on religion that were popular once.

That's all I could find out." Monsignor compressed his lips.

Somewhere out of his abysmal memory there lurked a consciousness that Zola had once been of some importance; but he could add nothing to the discussion.
Dom Adrian stood up and stretched himself.
"It's time for bed," he said.

"Look" (he nodded towards the window), "the devotions are just ending." From out of the luminous gulf beneath, beyond the tiers of roofs that lay, step-like, between this hostel and the river, rose up that undying song of Lourdes--that strange, haunting old melody of the story of Bernadette, that for a hundred and fifty years had been sung in this place--a ballad-like song, without grace of music or art, which yet has so wonderful an affinity with the old carols of Christendom, which yet is so unforgettable and so affecting.

As the three stood side by side looking out of the window they saw the serpent of fire, that rope-coil of tapers that, stretching round the entire Place, humped over the flights of steps and the platforms set amongst the churches, writhes incessantly on itself.