rom the altar rose clouds of incense from censers swung by
acolytes; now and then could be heard the tinkle of a silver bell at the
Elevation of the Host and the voice of the priest, monotonous and
indistinct, in that vast edifice. Lights twinkled, the air grew heavy
with incense, and great bursts of music rolled from the organ-loft.
'Twas a magnificent ceremonial, and Mr. Morris and Calvert came away
thrilled and awed. They made their way out by the old rue St. Louis and
the Quai des Orfevres, and, keeping still to the left bank of the Seine,
did not cross until they came to the Pont Royal. From the bridge they
could see far down the river and the lights of Paris on both sides of
the water. A feathery sprinkling of snow, which had fallen in the
afternoon, lay over everything; but the rack of clouds which had brought
it had blown away, and the night was frosty and starlit. A tremulous
excitement and unrest seemed to be in the keen air.

"Tis a doomed city, I think, and we are better away," said Mr. Morris,
leaning on the stone parapet of the bridge and looking far out over the
river and at the silent ranks of houses lining its shore. A great bell
from some tower on the left boomed out two strokes. "Two o'clock! 'Tis
Christmas morning, and we had best be getting back, Ned." Together they
walked under the keen, frosty stars as far as the rue St. Honore, and
then, with best Christmas wishes, they parted, Mr. Morris going to the
rue Richelieu, and Calvert back to the Legation.

CHAPTER XVI

MR. CALVERT TRIES TO FORGET

It was with the gloomiest forebodings and the doubt whether he should
ever see them under happier circumstances, or, indeed, at all, that Mr.
Calvert bade farewell to a few friends on the eve of his departure for
England. Although he had the greatest power of making devoted friends,
yet he was intimate with but very few persons, and so, while Mr. Morris
was making a score of farewell visits and engaging to fill a dozen
commissions for the Parisian ladies in London, Calvert was saying
good-by very quietly to but three or four friends. D'Azay he saw at the
Club, and it was not without great anxiety that he parted from him.
Calvert had noticed his friend's extreme republicanism and his alliance
with Lafayette with grave apprehension, and it was with the keenest
uncertainty as to the future that he said good-by to the young nobleman.
He was spared the embarrassment of bidding Madame de St. Andre farewe