entered Rheims.

The cathedral is now the home of pigeons, and as they fly in and
out of the blackened window-frames small pieces of the stained
glass tinkle down on to the floor. The custodian of the cathedral
told us that during the night of terror the German wounded, lying in
the cathedral, not realising the strength and beauty of the French
character under adversity, feared, seeing the cathedral in flames,
that the populace might wreak vengeance on them, and that it was
exceedingly difficult to get them to leave the cathedral. Many of the
prisoners fled into corners and hid, and some of them even
penetrated into the palace of the Archbishop, which was in flames.
All the world knows and admires the bravery of the cure of the
cathedral, M. Landrieux, who took upon himself the defence of the
prisoners, for fear insults might be hurled at them. He knowingly
risked his life, but when, next day, some of his confreres
endeavoured to praise him he replied: "My friends, I never before
realised how easy it was to die."

One of the churches in the city was heavily draped in black, and I
asked the sacristan if they had prepared for the funeral of a
prominent citizen. He told me that they were that day bringing
home the body of a young man of high birth of the neighbourhood,
but that it was not for him that the church was decked in mourning.
The draperies had hung there since August, 1914--"Since every
son of Rheims who is brought home is as noble as the one who
comes to-day, and alas! nearly every day brings us one of our
children."

We lunched in the hotel before the cathedral, where each shell