he sunlight of the clear September afternoon shone across the
roofs of the City of Rheims, and fell in a yellow flood upon the
towers of the most beautiful cathedral in the world, turning them
into two shining golden pillars against the deep blue of the
eastern sky.
The streets below were already in shadow, but the sunshine still
poured through the great rose window above the western portal,
lighting the dim interior of the church with long shafts of
brilliant reds, blues, and greens, and falling at last in a
shower of broken color upon the steps of the high altar.
Somewhere in the mysterious shadows an unseen musician touched
the keys of the great organ, and the voice of the Cathedral
throbbed through its echoing aisles in tremulous waves of sound. Above the deep tones of the bass notes a delicate melody floated,
like a lark singing above the surf.
Though the great church seemed empty but for sound and color,
there lingered among its shadows a few persons who loved it well.
There were priests and a few worshipers. There was also Father
Varennes, the Verger, and far away in one of the small chapels
opening from the apse in the eastern end good Mother Meraut was
down upon her knees, not praying as you might suppose, but
scrubbing the stone floor. Mother Meraut was a wise woman; she
knew when to pray and when to scrub, and upon occasion did both
with equal energy to the glory of God and the service of his
Church.