They went first to the font, stopped there, and one of the girls read a sort of prayer renewing their baptismal vows. Then they started again, in the same order, to the Chapelle de la Vierge, always singing their hymn, and knelt at the rails. Then the hymn stopped, and they recited, all together, a prayer to the Virgin. The little childish voices sounded quite distinctly in the old church--one heard every word. The congregation was much interested. There wasn't a sound. I don't know if it was any sort of religious feeling--some dim recollection of their early days, or merely the love of a show of any kind that is inherent in all the Latin race, but they seemed much impressed. While the collection was being made there was music--very good local talent--two violin soli played by a young fellow, from one of the small neighbouring châteaux, whom we all knew well, and the "Panus Angelicus" of César Franck, very well sung by the wife of the druggist. The curé of La Ferté, a very clever, cultivated man, with a charming voice and manner, made a very pretty, short address, quite suited to childish ears and understanding, with a few remarks at the end to the parents, telling them it was their fault if their children grew up hostile or indifferent to religion; that it was a perfectly false idea that to be patriotic and good citizens meant the abandonment of all religious principles. We waited until the end of the service (Francis and his friends arrived in time to hear the curé's address), and watched the procession disappear down the steep path and gradually break up as each child was carried off by a host of friends and relations to its home. The curé was very pleased, said he had had a "belle fête"--people had sent flowers and ribbons and helped as much as they could to decorate the church. I asked him if he thought it made a lasting impression on the children. He thought it did on the girls, but the boys certainly not. Until their first communion he held them a little, could interest them in books and games after school hours, but after that great step in their lives they felt themselves men, and were impatient of any control. VI CHRISTMAS IN THE VALOIS