In one case the troops stole all the sacramental vessels of a village church. The priest sought out Murat, who encamped within a short distance of the village, and, with tears in his eyes, besought the King to restore the vessels necessary for divine service. They were found and given back, and this act of grace is attested by an inscription on one of the silver vessels. The priest of the church of Kolominskoë told me that his father-in-law, who was a child at the time of the invasion, was so much afraid of the French that he hid himself in the stove, until, being hungry and impatient, he began to cry. The soldiers pulled him out, petted him, and solaced him with sugar. From the beginning, according to Ségur, the conflagration might have had terrible consequences for the invaders, whose want of foresight and carelessness were incredible. “Not only did the Kremlin contain, unknown to us, a powder-magazine, but at night the worn-out and badly-placed sentries allowed a battery of artillery to enter and take up position under the windows of Napoleon.... The pick of the army, and the Emperor himself, would have been blown to pieces if but one of the burning cinders which flew over our heads had alighted on a powder-chest. For several hours, therefore, the fate of the whole army hung upon that of every spark scattered abroad by the conflagration.” The courage of the people of Moscow excited the admiration of their foes. “Although,” says Labaume, “we suffered so terribly by the fire, we could not but admire the generous self-sacrifice of the inhabitants of the city, who, by their courage and steadfastness, have attained to that high degree of true glory that marks the greatness of a nation....” The same writer admires the firmness of the Russians who were condemned to be shot. “At the moment of death, each stepped forward to be, if possible, the first to receive the fatal bullet. With a demeanour that bore eloquent witness to their calmness and courage, they made the sign of the cross, and fell riddled with bullets....” The Abbé Surrugues, a Catholic priest, and an eye-witness, says—“The soldiers did not respect the modesty of women, the innocence of children, nor the grey hairs of age.... The wretched inhabitants of Sloboda, pursued from place to place by the flames, were obliged to take refuge in the cemeteries.... The unfortunate beings, with terror stamped on their faces, seen fitfully by the light of the burning dwellings flitting among the tombs, might have been taken for so many ghosts that had left their graves.... The sacramental vases, the images, all the monuments consecrated by the piety of the faithful, were pillaged or dragged ignominiously about the streets. The churches were turned into guard-houses, slaughter-houses, or stables.”