uld have you know that
they come, not in anger but in friendship: for the love they bear you,
and because it has been permitted----'

As he spoke his feebleness disappeared. He held his head high; and we
clustered closer and closer round him, not losing a half word, not a
tone, not a breath.

'They are not the dead. They are the immortal. They are those who
dwell--elsewhere. They have other work, which has been interrupted
because of this trial. They ask, "Do you know now--do you know now?"
this is what I am bidden to say.'

'What'--I said (I tried to say it, but my lips were dry), 'What would
they have us to know?'

But a clamour interrupted me. 'Ah! yes, yes, yes!' the people cried, men
and women; some wept aloud, some signed themselves, some held up their
hands to the skies. 'Nevermore will we deny religion,' they cried,
'never more fail in our duties. They shall see how we will follow every
office, how the churches shall be full, how we will observe the feasts
and the days of the saints! M. Lecamus,' cried two or three together;
'go, tell these Messieurs that we will have masses said for them, that
we will obey in everything. We have seen what comes of it when a city is
without piety. Never more will we neglect the holy functions; we will
vow ourselves to the holy Mother and the saints--'

'And if those ladies wish it,' cried Jacques Richard, 'there shall be as
many masses as there are priests to say them in the Hospital of St.
Jean.'

'Silence, fellow!' I cried; 'is it for you to promise in the name of the
Commune?' I was almost beside myself. 'M. Lecamus. is it for this that
they have come?'

His head had begun to droop again, and a dimness came over his face. 'Do
I know?' he said. 'It was them I longed for, not to know their errand;
but I have not yet said all. You are to send two--two whom you esteem
the highest--to speak with them face to face.'

Then at once there rose a tumult among the people--an eagerness which
nothing could subdue. There was a cry that the ambassadors were already
elected, and we were pushed forward, M. le Cure and myself, towards the
gate. They would not hear us speak. 'We promise,' they cried, 'we
promise everything; let us but get back.' Had it been to sacrifice us
they would have done the same; they would have killed us in their
passion, in order to return to their city--and afterwards mourned us and
honoured us as martyrs. But for the moment they had neither ruth nor
fear.