Thomas Lindet, in his attic, was putting together a few clothes into a bundle, to take with him to Évreux, as he was about to start next morning, after the first mass at six. He occupied two rooms in a small cottage opposite the church. It was an old house, in plaster and timber, with a thatched roof, and consisted of a ground-floor and an upper storey. The ground-floor was occupied by an old woman, and the priest tenanted the rooms above. His sitting-room, in which he was making up his bundle, was clean; the walls were laden with whitewash, as was also the sloping ceiling. The window was covered with a blue-and-white striped curtain of bedticking; the chairs were of wood, unpolished, with wooden seats. Over the chimney-piece were a crucifix and two little prints, one of Jean Jacques Rousseau, the other of S. Jerome. His small library occupied a few deal shelves on one side of the fireplace. Besides his breviary, there were few books in binding, except an old copy of Atto of Vercellæ on the ‘Sufferings and Persecutions of the Church,’ and a Geoffrey of Vendôme on ‘Investitures.’ But there were many pamphlets and polemical tracts, such as were circulated at that time in France, and in paper covers, torn and dirty, were Montesquieu’s ‘Esprit des Lois,’ and Rousseau’s ‘Emile.’ Having completed his preparations, the priest blew out his candle, drew the curtain, and looked out of his window, pierced through the thatch. The church of S. Cross was exactly opposite, on the other side of the small square, and the moon brought its sculpture into relief. The gothic tower, surmounted by an ugly bulbous cap, cut the clear grey sky; the delicate tracery of the windows stood out like white lace against the gloom of the bell-chamber. The west front had been remodelled in 1724, and, though Lindet, with the taste of the period, admired it, no one at the present day would approve of the stiff Italian pedimented doorway, with its four pillars incrusted in the wall, or of the niche in the same style, containing the effigy of the Empress Helena bearing the cross, which intrudes upon the elegant gothic west window. After the excitement of the day, a reaction had set in, and Lindet felt dispirited, and disposed to question the judiciousness of his purpose. He leaned on the window-sill listening to the trill of the frogs, sweetened by distance, and to the throbbing of the clock in the tower. From where he stood, he could see the rosy glimmer of the sanctuary lamp, through the west window of the church. At this window, looking towards the light which burned before the Host, he was wont every evening to say his prayers, before retiring to rest.