he words before. The sun burst out into shining, the
birds into singing. The sky stretched over us--deep and unfathomable and
blue,--the grass grew under our feet, a soft air of morning blew upon
us; waving the curls of the children, the veils of the women, whose
faces were lit up by the beautiful day. After three days of darkness
what a resurrection! It seemed to make up to us for the misery of being
thus expelled from our homes. It was early, and all the freshness of the
morning was upon the road and the fields, where the sun had just dried
the dew. The river ran softly, reflecting the blue sky. How black it had
been, deep and dark as a stream of ink, when I had looked down upon it
from the Mont St. Lambert! and now it ran as clear and free as the voice
of a little child. We all shared this moment of joy--for to us of the
South the sunshine is as the breath of life, and to be deprived of it
had been terrible. But when that first pleasure was over, the evidence
of our strange position forced itself upon us with overpowering reality
and force, made stronger by the very light. In the dimness it had not
seemed so certain; now, gazing at each other in the clear light of the
natural morning, we saw what had happened to us. No more delusion was
possible. We could not flatter ourselves now that it was a trick or a
deception. M. le Clairon stood there like the rest of us, staring at the
closed gates which science could not open. And there stood M. le Cure,
which was more remarkable still. The Church herself had not been able to
do anything. We stood, a crowd of houseless exiles, looking at each
other, our children clinging to us, our hearts failing us, expelled from
our homes. As we looked in each other's faces we saw our own trouble.
Many of the women sat down and wept; some upon the stones in the road,
some on the grass. The children took fright from them, and began to cry
too. What was to become of us? I looked round upon this crowd with
despair in my heart. It was I to whom every one would look--for lodging,
for direction--everything that human creatures want. It was my business
to forget myself, though I also had been driven from my home and my
city. Happily there was one thing I had left. In the pocket of my
overcoat was my scarf of office. I stepped aside behind a tree, and took
it out, and tied it upon me. That was something. There was thus a
representative of order and law in the midst of the exiles, whatever
might happ