oundness of whose top was perfectly defined
in the pale twilight of the Place du Cloitre. The first to appear was,
of course, the bearer of the Cross, accompanied by his two acolytes with
their candelabra; and behind them the Master of the Ceremonies hurried
along--the good Abbe Cornille, who now seemed quite out of breath and
overcome by fatigue. At the threshold of the door, the silhouette of
each new arrival was thrown out for a second, clear and strong, then
passed quickly away in the darkness of the interior. There were the
laymen, the schools, the associations, the fraternities, whose banners,
like sails, wavered for an instant, then suddenly vanished in the shade.
One saw again the pale "daughters of Mary," who, as they entered, still
sang with their voices like those of seraphim.

The Cathedral had room for all. The nave was slowly filled, the men
being at the right and the women at the left. But night had come. The
whole place outside was dotted with bright points, hundreds of moving
lights, and soon it was the turn for the clergy, the tapers that were
held outside the ranks making a double yellow cord as they passed
through the door. The tapers seemed endless as they succeeded each other
and multiplied themselves; the great seminary, the parishes, and the
Cathedral; the choristers still singing the anthem, and the canons in
their white pluvials. Then little by little the church became lighted
up, seemed inhabited, illuminated, overpowered by hundreds of stars,
like a summer sky.

Two chairs being unoccupied, Angelique stood upon one of them.

"Get down, my dear," whispered Hubertine, "for that is forbidden."

But she tranquilly remained there, and did not move.

"Why is it forbidden? I must see, at all events. Oh! how exquisite all
this is!"

At last she prevailed upon her mother to get upon the other chair.

Now the whole Cathedral was glowing with a reddish yellow light. This
billow of candles which crossed it illuminated the lower arches of the
side-aisles, the depth of the chapels, and glittered upon the glass
of some shrine or upon the gold of some tabernacle. The rays even
penetrated into the apse, and the sepulchral crypts were brightened
up by them. The choir was a mass of flame, with its altar on fire, its
glistening stalls, and its old railing, whose ornamentation stood out
boldly. And the flight of the nave was stronger marked than ever, with
the heavy curved pillars below, supporting the rou