passed very slowly.  I was afraid of him, of his worn face and thin hands, and the wild eagerness about him.  I am ashamed to say it, but so it was.  And for this reason it seemed long to me, though I think not more than a minute, till suddenly the bells rang out, sweet and glad as they ring at Easter for the resurrection.  There had been ringing of bells before, but not like this.  With a start and universal movement the sleeping men got up from where they lay—­not one but every one, coming out of the little hollows and from under the trees as if from graves.  They all sprang up to listen, with one impulse; and as for me, knowing that Martin was in the city, can it be wondered at if my heart beat so loud that I was incapable of thought of others!  What brought me to myself was the strange weight of M. Lecamus on my arm.  He put his other hand upon me, all cold in the brightness, all trembling.  He raised himself thus slowly to his feet.  When I looked at him I shrieked aloud.  I forgot all else.  His face was transformed—­a smile came upon it that was ineffable—­the light blazed up, and then quivered and flickered in his eyes like a dying flame.  All this time he was leaning his weight upon my arm.  Then suddenly he loosed his hold of me, stretched out his hands, stood up, and—­died.  My God! shall I ever forget him as he stood—­his head raised, his hands held out, his lips moving, the eyelids opened wide with a quiver, the light flickering and dying He died first, standing up, saying something with his pale lips—­then fell.  And it seemed to me all at once, and for a moment, that I heard a sound of many people marching past, the murmur and hum of a great multitude; and softly, softly I was put out of the way, and a voice said, ‘Adieu, ma soeur.’ ‘Ma soeur!’ who called me ‘Ma soeur’?  I have no sister.  I cried out, saying I know not what.  They told me after that I wept and wrung my hands, and said, ‘Not thee, not thee, Marie!’ But after that I knew no more.

THE NARRATIVE of MADAME VEUVE DUPIN (nee LEPELLETIER).

To complete the proces verbal, my son wishes me to give my account of the things which happened out of Semur during its miraculous occupation, as it is his desire, in the interests of truth, that nothing should be left out.  In this I find a great difficulty for many reasons; in the first place, because I have not the aptitude of expressing myself in writing, and it may well be that the phrases I employ may fail in the correctness which good French requires; and again, because it is my misfortune not to agree in all points with my Martin, though I am proud to think that he is, in every relation of life, so good a man, that the women of his family need not hesitate to follow his advice—­but necessarily there are some points which one reserves; and I cannot but feel the closeness of the connection between the late remarkable exhibition of the power of Heaven and the outrage done upon the good Sisters of St. Jean by