In the course of our day's journey we drew near a little village. I had been chatting with Auguste and felt in a loquacious mood, but paused as I found myself passing through the village,--in other words, sneaking round the corner of one shabby hut, and straight through the farm-yard of the next, and close by the windows of a third,--the three, and a few other stray buildings, constituting the hamlet. As it seemed an impertinence to follow such an intrusive, inquisitive little road at all, we could, of course, do no less than maintain a dumb propriety in the presence of the children and kitchen-utensils, but, as we left them behind and struck across an open field, my eye fell on one of those way-side shrines common in all Roman-Catholic districts. It was a miniature arch of plastered or whitewashed stone, and contained, as nearly as I could judge from the glimpse I had in passing, two coarse dolls, intended to represent the Virgin and Child. "What is that, Auguste?" I asked, with feigned ignorance. "A place of worship," he answered; "the people come there to pray." "But what do they come _there_ for?" I continued. "_God is there_," he answered, with emphasis, pointing at the same time to the gayly dressed puppets. "No, He is not," I replied. He turned round and looked at me defiantly. His mild face became that of a fanatic, and I actually quailed beneath his angry eye, as he retorted,-- "He _is_ there." My mistake flashed upon me, too, at the instant, and I hastened to explain myself in the simplest manner my poor French would allow, saying,-- _"Oui, Auguste, Il est la, c'est vrai; mais Il est la aussi!"_--and I pointed to the snow-capped mountains on my right,--_"et la!"_--and I waved my hand towards the deeply shadowed heights on the opposite side of the valley. He caught my meaning as by an inspiration. His fierce frown melted instantly into an intelligent smile. _"Il est partout!"_ exclaimed the youth, with enthusiasm, his childlike, eager eyes seeking a response in mine. I nodded in affirmation of the truth. It was enough. Catholic and Protestant had met on common ground,--we understood each other,--we were reconciled. Has he carried his large faith with him into the great metropolis? and have I kept mine unshaken in spite of the storm that is raging in my native land? Armed in his simplicity only, he has gone to meet the gusts of temptation; and I have lived to see the Republic, which I believed inviolable as Mother Earth herself, tremble and totter, as one after another of her rotten pillars has fallen away. God grant that we may both, in this day of our peril, be able, as then, to realize that "_Il est partout_"!