rested
the thoughts that should have wended heavenward, and made my muttered
prayers like offerings to herself. The very bouquet of flowers some
pious hand had placed beneath the shrine--withered and faded--was there
still. But where were they whose beating hearts had throbbed with deep
devotion? How many had died upon the scaffold!--how many were still
lingering in imprisonment, some in exile, some in concealment, dragging
out lives of misery and anxiety! What was the sustaining spirit of
such martyrdom? I asked myself again and again. Was it the zeal of true
religion, or was it the energy of loyalty that bore them up against
every danger, and enabled them to brave death itself with firmness?--and
if this faith of theirs was thus ennobling, why could not France be of
one mind and heart? There came no answer to these doubts of mine, and I
slowly advanced towards the altar, still deeply buried in thought. What
was my surprise to see that two candles stood there, which bore signs
of having been recently lighted. At once the whole truth flashed across
me--the pere had been there; he had come to celebrate a mass--the last,
perhaps, he was ever to offer up at that altar. I knew with what warm
affection he loved every object and every spot endeared to him by long
time, and I fancied to myself the overflowing of his heart as he entered
once more, and for the last time, the little temple, associated with
all the joys and sorrows of his existence. Doubtless, too, he had waited
anxiously for my coming; mayhap in the prayers he offered I was not
forgotten. I thought of him kneeling there, in the silence of the night,
alone, as he was, his gentle voice the only sound in the stillness of
the hour, his pure heart throbbing with gratitude for his deliverance,
and prayerful hopes for those who had been his persecutors. I thought
over all this, and, in a torrent of emotions, I knelt down before
the altar to pray. I know not what words I uttered, but his name must
somehow have escaped my lips, for suddenly a door opened beside the
altar, and the Pere Michel, dressed in his full vestments, stood before
me. His features, wan and wasted as they were, had regained their wonted
expression of calm dignity, and by his look I saw that he would not
suffer the sacred spot to be profaned by any outburst of feeling on
either side.

'Those dreadful shouts tell of another massacre,' said he solemnly, as
the wind bore towards us the deafening cries of