Moreover, to be completely on a peace-establishment, our village church has been reopened, and mass is now regularly celebrated there. The curé fled with the rest at our approach; but, unlike them, has never returned to his lair, and for some time the church remained closed. The other morning, shaving with the windows open towards the garden, I was astonished at hearing a most stentorian voice chanting in the church, which is not far from my garden-wall; and as nothing does or ought to take place without my knowledge, William was forthwith despatched to ascertain what was going on. In a few minutes he returned accompanied by M. Bonnemain, who, with his usual profusion of bows, commenced a most humble apology for the step he had taken without first obtaining my permission, which, however, he trusted would not on that account be withheld. He had sent to Pierrefitte (a neighbouring village) and engaged M. le Curé, a most worthy and exemplary man, to come over and “faire la messe;” and further, provided it met the approbation of M. le Commandant, and was no disturbance to him, he had engaged M. le Curé to come over every morning. So we have had mass ever since, and my morning shave is regularly accompanied by the bass, nasal chant of M. le Curé performing _l’office_ to about a dozen old women; for, sometimes when I have been earlier and gone in, I have never found any other congregation. Yesterday (Sunday) it was more numerous, for then the girls go; but I am uncharitable enough to believe only to exhibit their finery. Even on that day very few men attended; indeed, throughout, since we entered France, we have found religion at a very low ebb: the churches always thinly attended, and principally by women; the Sabbath observed, if at all, only as a holiday, apparently totally unconnected with any religious idea; shops everywhere open; and agricultural labours, as well as every other kind, going on as usual, unless people choose to rest and make a holiday of it.