We went out a little before the end to see what was going on on the green.  It was still quite a climb from the church, and all the people of the upper town had turned out to see the sight.  It is quite a distinct population from the lower town.  They are all canal hands, and mostly a very bad lot.  The men generally drink—­not enough to be really intoxicated (one rarely sees that in France), but enough to make them quarrelsome; and the women almost all slatternly and idle.  They were standing at their doors, babies in their arms, and troops of dirty, ragged, pretty little children playing on the road, and accompanying us to the green, begging for “un petit sou.”

We saw the cortege winding down again, the robes and banners of the clergy making a great effect, and we heard in the distance the strains of the military band stationed on the Mail—­echoes of the Marseillaise and the “Pere la Victoire” making a curious contrast to the old-world music we had just been listening to in the church.  Our party scattered a little.  Francis went down to the station with his auto to get the Duc and Duchesse d’Albufera, who had promised to come for the Comedie and dinner.  They are neighbours, and have a beautiful place not very far off—­Montgobert, in the heart of the Villers-Cotteret forest.  He is a descendant of Suchet, one of Napoleon’s Marshals, and they have a fine picture of the Marshal in uniform, and various souvenirs of the Emperor.  Francis had some difficulty in making his way through the Grande Rue which was packed with people very unwilling to let any vehicle pass.  However, they had a certain curiosity about the little carriage, which is the first one to appear in this part of the country—­where one sees only farmers’ gigs on two high wheels, or a tapissiere, a covered carriage for one horse.  However, as every one knew him they were good natured enough, and let him pass, but he could not get any further than the foot of the street—­too steep for any carriage to venture.

It was a pretty sight as we got to the Place.  Quantities of people walking about—­many evident strangers, seeing the ruins for the first time.  There was a band of schoolboys, about twenty, with a priest, much excited.  They wanted to go in the tent and get good places, but were afraid of missing something outside, and were making little excursions in every direction, evidently rather worrying their Director.  The tent, fairly large, looked small under the shadow of the great walls.  We looked in and found a good many people already in their places, and saw that the first two or three rows of red arm-chairs were being kept for the quality.  One of the sights was our two tall men standing at the door of the rather dirty, dilapidated “Cafe des Ruines,” piloting our friends past the groups of workmen smoking and drinking in the porch, and up the dark, rickety staircase.  I don’t think any one would have had the courage to go up, if Henrietta hadn’t led the way—­once