Le grand jour! Never in my life did I feel the full happiness of it, the full sense of the words before.  The sun burst out into shining, the birds into singing.  The sky stretched over us—­deep and unfathomable and blue,—­the grass grew under our feet, a soft air of morning blew upon us; waving the curls of the children, the veils of the women, whose faces were lit up by the beautiful day.  After three days of darkness what a resurrection!  It seemed to make up to us for the misery of being thus expelled from our homes.  It was early, and all the freshness of the morning was upon the road and the fields, where the sun had just dried the dew.  The river ran softly, reflecting the blue sky.  How black it had been, deep and dark as a stream of ink, when I had looked down upon it from the Mont St. Lambert! and now it ran as clear and free as the voice of a little child.  We all shared this moment of joy—­for to us of the South the sunshine is as the breath of life, and to be deprived of it had been terrible.  But when that first pleasure was over, the evidence of our strange position forced itself upon us with overpowering reality and force, made stronger by the very light.  In the dimness it had not seemed so certain; now, gazing at each other in the clear light of the natural morning, we saw what had happened to us.  No more delusion was possible.  We could not flatter ourselves now that it was a trick or a deception.  M. le Clairon stood there like the rest of us, staring at the closed gates which science could not open.  And there stood M. le Cure, which was more remarkable still.  The Church herself had not been able to do anything.  We stood, a crowd of houseless exiles, looking at each other, our children clinging to us, our hearts failing us, expelled from our homes.  As we looked in each other’s faces we saw our own trouble.  Many of the women sat down and wept; some upon the stones in the road, some on the grass.  The children took fright from them, and began to cry too.  What was to become of us?  I looked round upon this crowd with despair in my heart.  It was I to whom every one would look—­for lodging, for direction—­everything that human creatures want.  It was my business to forget myself, though I also had been driven from my home and my city.  Happily there was one thing I had left.  In the pocket of my overcoat was my scarf of office.  I stepped aside behind a tree, and took it out, and tied it upon me.  That was something.  There was thus a representative of order and law in the midst of the exiles, whatever might happen.  This action, which a great number of the crowd saw, restored confidence.  Many of the poor people gathered round me, and placed themselves near me, especially those women who had no natural support.  When M. le Cure saw this, it seemed to make a great impression upon him.  He changed colour, he who was usually so calm.  Hitherto he had appeared bewildered, amazed to find himself as others.  This, I must