was what we said to ourselves, forgetting how we shook and trembled
whenever any contact had been possible with those who were within. But
one thing was certain, that though we feared, we could not turn our eyes
from the place. We slept leaning against a tree, or with our heads on
our hands, and our faces toward Semur. We took no count of day or night,
but ate the morsel the women brought to us, and slept thus, not
sleeping, when want or weariness overwhelmed us. There was scarcely an
hour in the day that some of the women did not come to ask what news.
They crept along the roads in twos and threes, and lingered for hours
sitting by the way weeping, starting at every breath of wind.

Meanwhile all was not silent within Semur. The Cathedral bells rang
often, at first filling us with hope, for how familiar was that sound!
The first time, we all gathered together and listened, and many wept.
It was as if we heard our mother's voice. M. de Bois-Sombre burst into
tears. I have never seen him within the doors of the Cathedral since his
marriage; but he burst into tears. '_Mon Dieu!_ if I were but there!' he
said. We stood and listened, our hearts melting, some falling on their
knees. M. le Curé stood up in the midst of us and began to intone the
psalm: [He has a beautiful voice. It is sympathetic, it goes to the
heart.] 'I was glad when they said to me, Let us go up--' And though
there were few of us who could have supposed themselves capable of
listening to that sentiment a little while before with any sympathy, yet
a vague hope rose up within us while we heard him, while we listened to
the bells. What man is there to whom the bells of his village, the
_carillon_ of his city, is not most dear? It rings for him through all
his life; it is the first sound of home in the distance when he comes
back--the last that follows him like a long farewell when he goes away.
While we listened, we forgot our fears. They were as we were, they were
also our brethren, who rang those bells. We seemed to see them trooping