"The church ornaments were sacrificed to the needs of the poor. They consecrated to the same purpose the treasures that had long been destined for this use, as we find it written in the decree of the Fathers; but, in many places, the treasures of the churches could not suffice for the necessities of the poor. Often, even, when these wretches, long consumed by hunger, found means to satisfy it, they swelled immediately and died; others held in their hands, the food which they wished to raise to their lips; but this last effort cost them their life, and they perished without having been able to enjoy this sad pleasure. There are no words capable of expressing the pain, the sadness, the sobs, the plaints, the tears of the unhappy witnesses of these scenes of disaster, especially among the Churchmen, the bishops, the abbots, the monks and the religieux. It was thought that the orders of the seasons and the laws of the elements, which, till then, had governed the world, were fallen back into eternal chaos, and all feared that the end of the human race had come." Let those who haste to decry modern institutions remember that to-day you can buy bread in Tournus for a few sous the kilo. * * * * * From the great abbey church that still symbolizes, in its aspect, something of the horror of those famine-stricken years in which it was built, we wandered down the main street towards the river, and there rested at a little café in the Place de l'Hôtel de Ville, which is adorned, as might have been expected, by a statue of Greuze. Here we were waited on by a kindly, grey-haired, stupid, but intensely curious old lady, who, wearied by sixty years of monotonous Tournusian life, was anxious to imbibe from passing travellers, all available gossip, concerning themselves and the world from which she was cut off. My wife showed her some sketches. They left her cold. "Vous faites ça à coup d'œil?" she said, and yawned. "Madame est artiste," I interjected, carelessly, using a word which suggests public performer, or actress, rather than artist. The old woman thawed. Smiling, she turned to my wife. "In that case madame will be able to earn her evening at the Café de la Terrasse, beside the river. All the artistes go there, and there is a piano and singing." We acquiesced, without intending to go. Meanwhile the old lady studied my wife closely. "Do you English people dress as we do; and are you married in church?" She looked from one to another. "_We_ were," I said, "But everyone isn't." I had answered the last question first. "And as to clothes, every painter and artistic person, as is well-known, has her little 'mode à elle.'" "Justement," said our hostess, "Is this your tour de noces?" The negative reply grieved her. While I paid for the coffee, Madame cast an eye upon the retreating figure of my wife; "Comme Madame est grande," she said, "Et bien belle!"