appeared beyond; on the other a long, high, blank wall, with
nothing to be seen above it, and one small arched doorway
about half-way down. This was the shady side; and Madelon,
crossing over to it, arrived at the arched door, and stood for
a moment contemplating it, wondering what could be inside.

She was not left long in doubt, for two priests crossed the
road, and pushed open the door, without seeing the child, who,
urged by a spirit of curiosity, crept unnoticed after them,
and suddenly found herself in a cloister, running round a
quadrangle, on one side of which rose the walls and spires and
buttresses of a great church; in the centre a carefully kept
space of smooth grass. Madelon stood for a moment motionless
with delight; it reminded her of a scene in some opera or play
to which she had been in Paris with her father, but, oh! how
much more beautiful, and all real! The sunlight streamed
through the tracery of the cloisters, and fell chequered with
sharp shadows on the pavement; the bright blue sky was crossed
with pinnacles and spires, and there was an echo of music from
the church which lured her on. The two priests walked quickly
along, she followed, and all three entered the building by a
side door together.

A vast, dim church, with long aisles and lofty pillars, which
seemed to Madeleine's unpractised eye, fresh from the outer
glare, to vanish in infinite mysterious gloom; a blaze of
light, at the far-off high altar, with its priests, and
incense, and gorgeous garments and tall candles; on every side
shrines and tapers, and pictures, awful, agonised,
compassionate Saviours, sad, tender Madonnas; a great silent