‘Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus, Dominus Deus Sabaoth,’ said the priest in a low tone, whilst slightly stooping.

Vincent rang the little bell thrice; and the sparrows, scared by the sudden tinkling, flew off with such a mighty buzz of wings that La Teuse, who had just gone back into the sacristy, came out again, grumbling; ’The little rascals! they will mess everything.  I’ll bet that Mademoiselle Desiree has been here again to scatter bread-crumbs for them.’

The dread moment was at hand.  The body and the blood of a God were about to descend upon the altar.  The priest kissed the altar-cloth, clasped his hands, and multiplied signs of the cross over host and chalice.  The prayers of the canon of the mass now fell from his lips in a very ecstasy of humility and gratitude.  His attitude, his gestures, the inflections of his voice, all expressed his consciousness of his littleness, his emotion at being selected for so great a task.  Vincent came and knelt beside him, lightly lifted the chasuble with his left hand, the bell ready in his right; and the priest, his elbows resting on the edge of the altar, holding the host with the thumbs and forefingers of both hands, pronounced over it the words of consecration:  Hoc est enim corpus meum.  Then having bowed the knee before it, he raised it slowly as high as his hands could reach, following it upwards with his eyes, while the kneeling server rang the bell thrice.  Then he consecrated the wine—­Hic est enim calix—­leaning once more upon his elbows, bowing, raising the cup aloft, his right hand round the stem, his left holding its base, and his eyes following it aloft.  Again the server rang the bell three times.  The great mystery of the Redemption had once more been repeated, once more had the adorable Blood flowed forth.

‘Just you wait a bit,’ growled La Teuse, as she tried to scare away the sparrows with outstretched fist.

But the sparrows were now fearless.  They had come back even while the bell was ringing, and, unabashed, were fluttering about the benches.  The repeated tinklings even roused them into liveliness, and they answered back with little chirps which crossed amid the Latin words of prayer, like the rippling laughs of free urchins.  The sun warmed their plumage, the sweet poverty of the church captivated them.  They felt at home there, as in some barn whose shutters had been left open, and screeched, fought, and squabbled over the crumbs they found upon the floor.  One flew to perch himself on the smiling Virgin’s golden veil; another, whose daring put the old servant in a towering rage, made a hasty reconnaissance of La Teuse’s skirts.  And at the altar, the priest, with every faculty absorbed, his eyes fixed upon the sacred host, his thumbs and forefingers joined, did not even hear this invasion of the warm May morning, this rising flood of sunlight, greenery and birds, which overflowed even to the foot of the Calvary where doomed nature was wrestling in the death-throes.