On the last night before our deliverance, suddenly, in the middle of the night, there was a great commotion in the house.  We all rose out of our beds at the sound of the cry, almost believing that some one at the window had seen the lifting of the cloud, and rushed together, frightened, yet all in an eager expectation to hear what it was.  It was in the room where the old Mere Julie slept that the disturbance was.  Mere Julie was one of the market-women of Semur, the one I have mentioned who was devout, who never missed the Salut in the afternoon, besides all masses which are obligatory.  But there were other matters in which she had not satisfied my mind, as I have before said.  She was the mother of Jacques Richard, who was a good-for-nothing, as is well known.  At La Clairiere Mere Julie had enacted a strange part.  She had taken no part in anything that was done, but had established herself in the chamber allotted to her, and taken the best bed in it, where she kept her place night and day, making the others wait upon her.  She had always expressed a great devotion for St. Jean; and the Sisters of the Hospital had been very kind to her, and also to her vaurien of a son, who was indeed, in some manner, the occasion of all our troubles—­being the first who complained of the opening of the chapel into the chief ward, which was closed up by the administration, and thus became, as I and many others think, the cause of all the calamities that have come upon us.  It was her bed that was the centre of the great commotion we had heard, and a dozen voices immediately began to explain to us as we entered.  ‘Mere Julie has had a dream.  She has seen a vision,’ they said.  It was a vision of angels in the most beautiful robes, all shining with gold and whiteness.

’The dress of the Holy Mother which she wears on the great fetes was nothing to them,’ Mere Julie told us, when she had composed herself.  For all had run here and there at her first cry, and procured for her a tisane, and a cup of bouillon, and all that was good for an attack of the nerves, which was what it was at first supposed to be.  ’Their wings were like the wings of the great peacock on the terrace, but also like those of eagles.  And each one had a collar of beautiful jewels about his neck, and robes whiter than those of any bride.’  This was the description she gave:  and to see the women how they listened, head above head, a cloud of eager faces, all full of awe and attention!  The angels had promised her that they would come again, when we had bound ourselves to observe all the functions of the Church, and when all these Messieurs had been converted, and made their submission—­to lead us back gloriously to Semur.  There was a great tumult in the chamber, and all cried out that they were convinced, that they were ready to promise.  All except Madame Martin, who stood and looked at them with a look which surprised me, which was of pity rather than sympathy.  As there was no one