midst the deep silence, something deliciously heavenly about
it. Mysterious echoes repeat from the far end of the temple each of his
words, and in the dim light of the sanctuary the golden candlesticks
glitter like precious stones. The old stained-glass windows with their
symbolic figures become suddenly illuminated, a flood of light and
sunshine spreads through the church like a sheet of fire. Are the heavens
opening? Is the Spirit from on high descending among us?

While lost in pious revery, which soothes and lulls, one gazes with
ecstasy on the fanciful details of the sculptures which vanish in the
groined roof above, and on the quaint pipes of the organ with its hundred
voices. The beliefs of childhood piously inculcated in your heart
suddenly reawaken; a vague perfume of incense again penetrates the air.
The stone pillars shoot up to infinite heights, and from these celestial
arches depends the golden lamp which sways to and fro in space, diffusing
its eternal light. Truly, God is great.

By degrees the sweet tones of the preacher enrapture one more and more,
and the sense of his words are lost; and, listening to the divine murmur
of that saint-like voice, your eyes, like those of a child falling asleep
in the bosom of the Creator, close.

You do not go to sleep, but your head inclines forward, the ethereal
light surrounds you, and your soul, delighting in the uncertain, plunges
into celestial space, and loses itself in infinity.

What a sweet and holily intoxicating sensation, a delicious ecstasy!
Nevertheless, there are those who smile at this religious raise-en-scene,
these pomps and splendors, this celestial music, which soothes the nerves
and thrills the brain! Pity on these scoffers who do not comprehend the
ineffable delight of being able to open at will the gates of Paradise to
themselves, and to become, at odd moments, one with the angels! But what
purpose does it serve to speak of the faithless and of their harmless,
smiles? As the Abbe Gelon has in his inimitable manner observed, "The
heart is a fortress, incessantly assailed by the spirit of darkness."

The idea of a constant struggle with this powerful being has something
about it that adds tenfold to our strength and flatters our vanity. What,
alone in your fortress, Madame; alone with the spirit of darkness.

But hush! the Abbe Gelon is finishing in a quivering and fatigued voice.
His right hand traces in the air the sign of peace. Then he wipes