s a _reposoir_ that is
still unfinished," Hubert added.

The young girls of the Society of the Blessed Virgin, the "daughters of
Mary," as they are called, had already commenced singing a canticle, and
their clear voices rose in the air, pure as crystal. Nearer and nearer
the double ranks caught the movement and recommenced their march.

CHAPTER X

After the civilians, the clergy began to leave the church, the lower
orders coming first. All, in surplices, covered their heads with their
caps, under the porch; and each one held a large, lighted wax taper;
those at the right in their right hand, and those at the left in their
left hand, outside the rank, so there was a double row of flame, almost
deadened by the brightness of the day. First were representatives from
the great seminaries, the parishes, and then collegiate churches; then
came the beneficed clergymen and clerks of the Cathedral, followed by
the canons in white pluvials. In their midst were the choristers, in
capes of red silk, who chanted the anthem in full voice, and to whom all
the clergy replied in lower notes. The hymn, "Pange Lingua," was grandly
given. The street was now filled with a rustling of muslin from the
flying winged sleeves of the surplices, which seemed pierced all over
with tiny stars of pale gold from the flames of the candles.

"Oh!" at last Angelique half sighed, "there is Saint Agnes!"

She smiled at the saint, borne by four clerks in white surplices, on a
platform of white velvet heavily ornamented with lace. Each year it was
like a new surprise to her, as she saw her guardian angel thus brought
out from the shadows where she had been growing old for centuries, quite
like another person under the brilliant sunshine, as if she were timid
and blushing in her robe of long, golden hair. She was really so old,
yet still very young, with her small hands, her little slender feet, her
delicate, girlish face, blackened by time.

But Monseigneur was to follow her. Already the swinging of the censers
could be heard coming from the depths of the church.

There was a slight murmuring of voices as Angelique repeated:

"Monseigneur, Monseigneur," and with her eyes still upon the saint who
was going by, she recalled to mind at this moment the old histories.
The noble Marquesses d'Hautecoeur delivering Beaumont from the plague,
thanks to the intervention of Agnes, then Jean V and all those of his
race coming to kneel before her image, to pay