"And she is a woman!" said old Andre, casting out his hands, and speaking in his poor thin voice. All the group seemed to agree in snubbing old Andre. "What of that? She will not eat me," said Nannon, holding up her apron to shade her from the sun. "That is true," assented Henri's mother. "But you will need to look out for the _sous_." "She will hold them tight; but some must creep out of her fingers," Nannon said, nodding cheerfully; "and if M. Deshoulieres drives that unfortunate boy out of his place, I shall say that the saints have sent us all a recompense. That is what they do sometimes, as I will say for them, and when one does not altogether expect it at their hands. And mademoiselle asked for Jean-Marie." Therese waited quickly away from the little sunshiny vine-covered court set in the framework of its grim old pointed doorway, and went back to the Cathedral, going round this time to the south portal, by which she knew she could find entrance. It lay in the full blaze of sunlight: flying buttresses, open pillars, and enormous gargoyles threw sharp shadows on the warm stone. One of the doors was open: inside lay, as it seemed, a vast chasm of darkness, but out of the midst of it the opposite transept window gleamed like a gorgeous bed of jewels. A great bell tolled solemnly; up the broad steps swept a long procession of the white-veiled children, and sisters in their serge dresses. Therese followed them; she found a chair, and tried not to notice the stir and bustle about her. People crowded in until the great Cathedral was almost filled. The service was held outside the choir; the little white multitude stood in the centre: on one side were other children in red dresses and rose-wreaths; all round were throngs of loving or curious spectators--warm lights flashed through the magnificent glass. Presently from high overhead dropped the first sweet notes of the organ, and the young fresh voices swelled up to meet it. Some of the women were crying. There was something about the service which was inexpressibly touching; the vast sombre ancient church, the childish voices. Therese, who had been strangely excited before, almost sobbed as she knelt. Even there her desolation and solitude seemed to wrap her round; she had not so much as any one to pray for, she thought, except Fabien. Her prayer went up, eager and piteous, that Fabien might come and she might be happy. CHAPTER EIGHT. "Behind this eminence the sun Would drop serenely, long ere day was done; And one who climbed that height, might see again A second setting o'er the fertile plain Beyond the town, and glittering in his beam, Wind far away that poplar-skirted stream." Archbishop Trench. ------------------------------------------------------------------------