Then came all the women members of the congregation, old and young, all reciting rapidly in undertones the response, “Ore pro nobis,” to the harsh litany voice of a stalwart nun. They all had their prayer books in their hands, and the blue ribbon with the medal round their necks. Charlot was among these, and she took up room enough for three, but she did not even raise her eyes to look at Pallieter and Marieke and her relations. Little boys dressed in red and purple coats followed with staves and lanterns. Twelve nuns in white sheets were weighed down with the heavy silver reliquary of St. Begga. Its golden rays shone like the sun. And then, all dressed in white linen from head to foot, there followed the orphans of St. Begga in long rows of five. They looked like ghosts; they sang hymns in Latin, in their shrill, hungry young voices. Then a rustling movement of variegated silk and velvet banners, clatter of silver and brass, and flashing of high-held lighted lanterns and torches. Among these, with tall, shabby, white silk hats and clean neckties, walked all the old almsmen from the convent, each with a smoking torch of an arm’s thickness. The three blind men were there, too. After this, amid a dazzling glitter of sun-lighted gold, surrounded by chanting and bell-ringing and sweet smell of incense, came the Monstrance. All the onlookers fell on their knees and folded their hands. Four men in red held the canopy beneath which the priest in his gold chasuble held up before his face the shining Monstrance with the Holy Wafer. His eyes were closed, his shiny bald head obtruded a little above the high stiff cap, and his long white hair waved round his ears. Visitors from other towns who had joined the procession followed behind. Slowly the procession wound its way under the luxuriant trees of the ramparts. The sun shone on it all till the colors glittered. The breeze flapped the flags and swayed the dresses. The band played, the bells tinkled, the church bells clanged out the great festival through the air. Pallieter was so moved by all the simple show under which so great a faith lay hidden, so touched, that a lump rose in his throat. “Come!” he said. “Let’s all follow.” And the peasants, with Marieke, joined the procession, and Pallieter was last with a lighted candle in his hand. The Monstrance went on glittering in the distance through the trees. Two nightingales began to call to each other and the incense still hung blue and fragrant under the boughs; an odor of sanctity hovered over the earth. There was not a soul to be seen in the quiet Sabbath fields.