At this moment, for a time—­M. le Maire will take my statement for what it is worth—­I became unconscious of what passed further.  Whether weariness overpowered me and I slept, as at the most terrible moment nature will demand to do, or if I fainted I cannot tell; but for a time I knew no more.  When I came to myself, I was seated on the Cathedral steps with everything silent around me.  From thence I rose up, moved by a will which was not mine, and was led softly across the Grande Rue, through the great square, with my face towards the Porte St. Lambert.  I went steadily on without hesitation, never doubting that the gates would open to me, doubting nothing, though I had never attempted to withdraw from the city before.  When I came to the gate I said not a word, nor any one to me; but the door rolled slowly open before me, and I was put forth into the morning light, into the shining of the sun.  I have now said everything I had to say.  The message I delivered was said through me, I can tell no more.  Let me rest a little; figure to yourselves, I have known no night of rest, nor eaten a morsel of bread for—­did you say it was but three days?

M. LE MAIRE RESUMES HIS NARRATIVE.

We re-entered by the door for foot-passengers which is by the side of the great Porte St. Lambert.

I will not deny that my heart was, as one may say, in my throat.  A man does what is his duty, what his fellow-citizens expect of him; but that is not to say that he renders himself callous to natural emotion.  My veins were swollen, the blood coursing through them like a high-flowing river; my tongue was parched and dry.  I am not ashamed to admit that from head to foot my body quivered and trembled.  I was afraid—­but I went forward; no man can do more.  As for M. le Cure he said not a word.  If he had any fears he concealed them as I did.  But his occupation is with the ghostly and spiritual.  To see men die, to accompany them to the verge of the grave, to create for them during the time of their suffering after death (if it is true that they suffer), an interest in heaven, this his profession must necessarily give him courage.  My position is very different.  I have not made up my mind upon these subjects.  When one can believe frankly in all the Church says, many things become simple, which otherwise cause great difficulty in the mind.  The mysterious and wonderful then find their natural place in the course of affairs; but when a man thinks for himself, and has to take everything on his own responsibility, and make all the necessary explanations, there is often great difficulty.  So many things will not fit into their places, they straggle like weary men on a march.  One cannot put them together, or satisfy one’s self.