once more in family
worship, and then get a little sleep before our night-journey begins."

I think he and M. Bourdinave and the children actually did sleep, but
not my mother or the girls. I certainly did not. My mother dressed and
bandaged my wounded feet for the last time. They were healing, but too
tender for walking or standing without injury to the newly-formed skin.
Then she sat beside me, with looks of love, and was presently joined
by Madeleine. We knew so well what was passing in each other's minds,
that we did not need to say much. Then my father awoke, with all his
faculties about him, looked at his watch, and said it was time to start.
M. Bourdinave went out, and after what seemed to our impatience rather a
long time, returned, and said Raoul reported unusual disturbance in the
city, but that now all was ready. We took leave of one another, agreed
on places of rendezvous (if we were ever enabled to reach them), and had
a valedictory prayer. Still they did not like to go and leave me without
La Croissette. At length he appeared, and, addressing my father, said:

"You had better avoid the precincts of your famous temple, La Calade: it
has been completely demolished, and crowds are yet hanging about their
beloved place of worship, regardless of danger, but the military will
presently disperse them."

"Ah, what desecration!" exclaimed my mother.

"Keep your regrets for the sufferings of living people, my good lady,"
said La Croissette. "Stones have no feeling, and are not prone to
revenge insult. 'Tis said, walls have ears. The walls of La Calade have,
at all events, a tongue; for on the summit of the ruins lies a stone
with these words on it, 'Lo, this is the house of God; this is the gate
of heaven!'"

Then addressing my father, he said. "The very fact of the public
attention being drawn to this point makes other parts of the city
comparatively deserted, and therefore favors your escape. Lose no time,
I advise you, in availing yourselves of it."

We exchanged our last embraces in tears, and they went forth, he
following them. I felt inexpressibly lonely and sad.

Just as I was beginning to get uneasy at his absence, and to think,
"What if he should never come back?" he returned.

"They are safely off now," said he, "and little know what peril they
have been in here. Another twelve hours, and they would all have been
taken. Now, then, let us bestir ourselves, young man. They call you
Jacques; but I s