And all the time the walls of the Celestial City were being shaken by battering-rams of supplication, catapults of prayer; the living forces of the whole army combining to make a breach and take the place by storm.

Then it was that Jesus surrendered at discretion, conquered by so much humility and so much love; He placed His powers in His Mother’s hands, and miracles began to abound.

All the tribe of the sick and crippled are on their feet; the blind see, the dropsical dry up, the lame walk, the weak-hearted run.

The tale of these miracles, which were repeated day after day, sometimes being produced even before the pilgrim had reached Chartres, has been preserved in the Latin manuscript in the Vatican.

The natives of Chateau Landon are dragging a cart-load of wheat.  On reaching Chantereine they discover that the food they had taken for the journey is all gone, and they beg for bread from some unhappy creatures who are themselves in the greatest want.  The Virgin intercedes for them and the bread of the poor is multiplied.  Again, some men set out from the Gatinais with a load of stone.  Ready to drop, they pause near Le Puiset, and some villagers coming out to meet them, invite them to rest while they themselves take a turn at the load; but this they refuse.  Then the natives of Le Puiset offer them a cask of wine, and pour it into a barrel hoisted on to the truck.  This the pilgrims accept, and, feeling less weary, they go on their way.  But they are called back to see that the empty vat has refilled itself with excellent wine.  Of this all drink, and it heals the sick.

Again, a man of Corbeville-sur-Eure employed in loading a cart with timber has three fingers chopped across by an axe and shrieks in agony.  His comrades advise him to have the fingers completely severed, as they hold only by a strip of flesh, but the priest who is conducting them to Chartres disapproves.  They all pray to Mary, and the wound vanishes, the hand is whole as before.

Some men of Brittany have lost their way at night in the open country, and are suddenly guided aright by flames of fire; it is the Virgin in person descending that Saturday after Complines into Her church when it is almost finished, and filling it with dazzling glory.

And there are pages and pages of such incidents.

“Ah, it is easy to understand,” thought Durtal, “why this Sanctuary is so full of Her.  Her gratitude for the love of our forefathers is still felt here—­even now She is fain not to seem too much disgusted, not to look too closely.