We pay two sous for a chair and take our places, under a fire of glances
from our neighbours, who pray the while, and tell their beads; and we
have scarcely time to notice the beautiful proportions of the nave, the
carving in the side chapels, or the grotesque figures that we have
before alluded to, when the service commences, and we can just discern
in the distance the priests at the high altar (looking in their bright
stiff robes, and with their backs to the people, like golden beetles
under a microscope); we cannot hear distinctly, for the moving of the
crowd about us, the creaking of chairs, and the whispering of many
voices; but we can see the incense rising, the children in white robes
swinging silver chains, and the cocked hat of the tall 'Suisse' moving
to and fro.

Presently the congregation sits down, the organ peals forth and a choir
of sweet voices chaunts the 'Agnus Dei.' Again the congregation kneels
to the sound of a silver bell; the smoke of incense curls through the
aisles, and the golden beetles move up and down; again there is a
scraping of chairs, a shuffling of feet, and a general movement towards
the pulpit, the men standing in groups round it with their hats in their
hands; then a pause, and for the first time so deep a silence that we
can hear the movement of the crowd outside, and the distant rattle of
drums.

All eyes are now turned to the preacher; a man of about forty, of an
austere but ordinary (we might almost say low) type of face, closely
shaven, with an ivory crucifix at his side and a small black book in his
hand. He makes his way through the crowded aisles, and ascends the new
pulpit in the centre of the church, where everyone of the vast
congregation can both see and hear him.