ch at first appeared so tragical, and yielding to an artistical
inspiration, this young man, at the moment when he saw the people
kneeling with Gabriel, could not forbear striking the notes. Then a sort
of harmonious sigh, at first almost insensible, seemed to rise from the
midst of this immense cathedral, like a divine aspiration. As soft and
aerial as the balmy vapor of incense, it mounted and spread through the
lofty arches. Little by little the faint, sweet sounds, though still as
it were covered, changed to an exquisite melody, religious, melancholy,
and affectionate, which rose to heaven like a song of ineffable
gratitude and love. And the notes were at first so faint, so covered,
that the kneeling multitude had scarcely felt surprise, and had yielded
insensibly to the irresistible influence of that enchanting harmony.

Then many an eye, until now dry and ferocious, became wet with
tears--many hard hearts beat gently, as they remembered the words
pronounced by Gabriel with so tender an accent: "Love ye one another!"
It was at this moment that Father d'Aigrigny came to himself--and opened
his eyes. He thought himself under the influence of a dream. He had
lost his senses in sight of a furious populace, who, with insult and
blasphemy on their lips, pursued him with cries of death even to the
sanctuary of the temple. He opened his eyes--and, by the pale light of
the sacred lamps, to the solemn music of the organ, he saw that crowd,
just now so menacing and implacable, kneeling in mute and reverential
emotion, and humbly bowing their heads before the majesty of the shrine.

Some minutes after, Gabriel, carried almost in triumph on the shoulders
of the crowd, entered the coach, in which Father d'Aigrigny, who by
degrees had completely recovered his senses, was already reclining. By
the order of the Jesuit, the coach stopped before the door of a house
in the Rue de Vaugirard; he had the strength and courage to enter this
dwelling alone; Gabriel was not admitted, but we shall conduct the
reader thither.

CHAPTER XXVI. THE PATIENT.

At the end of the Rue de Vaugirard, there was then a very high wall,
with only one small doorway in all its length. On opening this door,
you entered a yard surrounded by a railing, with screens like Venetian
blinds, to prevent your seeing between the rails. Crossing this
courtyard, you come to a fine large garden, symmetrically planted, at
the end of which stood a building two storie