s it was
getting dark, we could not see the outside very well. A gigantic mass of
towers and little steeples loomed up through the twilight, but the
inside was very striking--crowded with people, lights, banners, flowers
everywhere--five or six priests were officiating and the Bishop in full
dress, with his gold mitre on his head, was seated on his red velvet
throne under the big crucifix. The congregation (there were a good many
men) was following the service very devoutly, but there were a great
many people walking about and stopping at the different chapels which
rather takes away from the devotional aspect. Unfortunately the sermon
had only just begun, so we didn't hear any music. The organ is very
fine and they have a very good choir. Neither did we hear the famous
chimes, which we regretted very much. Some of the bells have a beautiful
sound--one in particular, that used to be at St. Jean de Vignes, has a
wonderful deep note. One hears it quite distinctly above all the others.
All the bells have names. This one used to be called "Simon," after a
Bishop Simon le Gras, who blessed it in 1643. When the voice got faint
and cracked with age, it was "refondue" (recast) and called Julie
Pauline.

It was quite dark and cold when we started back. We had to light our big
lantern almost as soon as we left Soissons. For some little time after
we got out of the town we met people walking and driving--all with
holiday garbs and faces--but once we plunged in the long forest alleys
we were absolutely cut off from the outside world. It is a curious
sensation I have never got accustomed to, those long, dark, lonely
forest roads. The leaves were still so thick on the trees that we could
hardly see the last glow of a beautiful orange sunset. The only sign of
life was a charbonnier's hut in a clearing quite close to the road. They
had a dull light; just enough to let us see dusky figures moving about.

This morning our church looked quite different--no more banners,
embroideries or bright flowers, all draped in black and a bier covered
with a black pall in the middle of the aisle--the cure in a black satin
vestment; all the congregation in black. I went out before the end of
the service. All the black draperies and the black kneeling figures and
the funeral psalms were so inexpressibly sad and dreary. I was glad to
get out into the sunshine and to the top of the hill, where the cemetery
gates stood wide open and the sun was streaming