and with the rapidity of a flash of lightning the words, "There he is!
there he is!" passed from group to group. At this cry some withdrew into
their houses and shut their doors and darkened their windows, as if it
were a day of public mourning, while others opened them wide, as if to
let joy enter. In a few moments the uproar and confusion evoked by the
news was succeeded by the deep silence of breathless curiosity.

Then, through the silence, a figure advanced, carrying a branch of laurel
in one hand as a token of triumph. It was that of a young man of from
thirty-two to thirty-four years of age, with a graceful and well-knit
frame, an aristocratic air and faultlessly beautiful features of a
somewhat haughty expression. Although he had walked three leagues to
reach the town, the ecclesiastical garb which he wore was not only
elegant but of dainty freshness. His eyes turned to heaven, and singing
in a sweet voice praise to the Lord, he passed through the streets
leading to the church in the market-place with a slow and solemn gait,
without vouchsafing a look, a word, or a gesture to anyone. The entire
crowd, falling into step, marched behind him as he advanced, singing like
him, the singers being the prettiest girls in Loudun, for we have
forgotten to say that the crowd consisted almost entirely of women.

Meanwhile the object of all this commotion arrived at length at the porch
of the church of Saint-Pierre. Ascending the steps, he knelt at the top
and prayed in a low voice, then rising he touched the church doors with
his laurel branch, and they opened wide as if by magic, revealing the
choir decorated and illuminated as if for one of the four great feasts of
the year, and with all its scholars, choir boys, singers, beadles, and
vergers in their places. Glancing around, he for whom they were waiting
came up the nave, passed through the choir, knelt for a second time at
the foot of the altar, upon which he laid the branch of laurel, then