Suddenly the bells in the tower began to peal. According to popular belief their sound dispels tempests, and the ringers were wont to pull the ropes during a storm. The clash and clangour of the metal alternated with the boom of the thunder. The darkness which fell on the church was terrible, men and women on their knees recited their beads in fear and trembling. Scarce a heart in that great concourse but quailed. Once a child screamed. Then, as for one instant, the bells ceased, the sobbing of a babe at its mother’s breast was heard. The water began to flow down the hill, collect into a stream in the churchyard, and to pour in a turbid flood down the steps into the nave. It boiled up under the closed door, it rushed into the tower and dislodged the ringers, who were soon over shoe-tops in water. A startled bat flew up and down the church, and dashing against the altar-candles extinguished one with its leathern wings. All at once the rain ceased to fall, and the wind lulled. None stirred; all felt that the tempest was gathering up its strength for one final explosion ere it rolled away. Then a tall thin woman in black, with a black veil thrown over her head, was observed to have stationed herself immediately before the altar, where she knelt with outstretched arms and uplifted face. Those who were near observed with horror that the face, from which the veil was upthrown, was of a blue-grey colour. When she had made her way to her present situation none knew; none had observed her in the procession, for then she had been, probably, closely veiled. She threw her arms and hands passionately towards the black Virgin above the altar, and in the stillness of that lull in the storm her piercing cry was heard pealing through the church, ‘Avenge me on my adversary.’ ‘My God!’ whispered Berthier to his father-in-law, as he pointed to the excited worshipper, ‘look at my wife, Foulon! she has gone mad.’ ‘Bah!’ answered the imperturbable old man; ‘nothing of the sort, my boy; she is invoking vengeance upon you and me.’ Instantly the whole church glared with light, brighter than on the brightest summer day. No one present saw any object, he saw only light--light around him, light within him, followed by a crash so deafening and bewildering that it was some minutes before any one present was able to perceive what had taken place, much less to realize it. The lightning had struck the tower, glanced from it, bringing part of the spire with it; had rent the west wall of the church, and had shattered the slab on which, some minutes previously, Foulon and Berthier had been standing. This was the last effort of the storm; the sky lightened after this explosion, the rain fell with less violence, and gradually ceased.