on places of rendezvous (if we were ever enabled to reach them), and had
a valedictory prayer. Still they did not like to go and leave me without
La Croissette. At length he appeared, and, addressing my father, said:

"You had better avoid the precincts of your famous temple, La Calade: it
has been completely demolished, and crowds are yet hanging about their
beloved place of worship, regardless of danger, but the military will
presently disperse them."

"Ah, what desecration!" exclaimed my mother.

"Keep your regrets for the sufferings of living people, my good lady,"
said La Croissette. "Stones have no feeling, and are not prone to
revenge insult. 'Tis said, walls have ears. The walls of La Calade have,
at all events, a tongue; for on the summit of the ruins lies a stone
with these words on it, 'Lo, this is the house of God; this is the gate
of heaven!'"

Then addressing my father, he said. "The very fact of the public
attention being drawn to this point makes other parts of the city
comparatively deserted, and therefore favors your escape. Lose no time,
I advise you, in availing yourselves of it."

We exchanged our last embraces in tears, and they went forth, he
following them. I felt inexpressibly lonely and sad.

Just as I was beginning to get uneasy at his absence, and to think,
"What if he should never come back?" he returned.

"They are safely off now," said he, "and little know what peril they