"It will be a curse if it ever should come again, Camille, and add a thousandfold to the already terrible calamities of our unhappy France. But why this hatred against the clergy and against religion, Camille? that is what I can't understand,” said Louis. "You yourself, Louis, not long ago, were beginning to get tired of the priests, and to think people might have too much of religion," replied Camille. "You used to speak very slightingly of those imbecile Bretons, and of that stupid fellow, Pierre ; I thought then you would soon join us, for when a man once begins to see the folly of religion, he soon goes on to perceive the necessity of its total abolition. Do not these priests keep the people in ignorance and slavery, they make them idle and waste their time in churches-besides, what do we want religion for in these enlightened days, when no one believes in Christianity, more than in any other old fables of ancient times?" "Yes, Camille, I confess with sorrow that for a short time, not long ago," replied Louis sadly, "I was persuaded by you and others to think and speak disrespectfully of religion; but deeply have I repented it since; never, I trust, shall I be led astray again. Camille, do reflect for one moment-do you really mean to say that you do not believe in the existence of a God? Do you think that there is no future life? No hereafter on the other side of the tomb?" "Enlightened men," answered Camille, "have long since declared such ideas to be fables, only fit to frighten and amuse women and children." "Camille, if you had ever stood face to face with death as I have done, if you had lain alone on the battle-field, expecting every hour to be your last-alone with your own conscience and your God-you would think differently. Of one thing, you must be certain—that one day you will die, and do you really believe that your soul will die with your body? that there is no future life-put the question seriously to your own conscience, is there not something within you, that whispers there is an immortality beyond the tomb-something that you cannot stifle tell me, Camille, is there not?" and he raised himself in his bed, took his brother-in-law's hand affectionately, and with flushed face and glistening eyes gazed into his weary, haggard, besotted face. There was no reply. Louis continued. "Camille, I am weak, my strength is well-nigh exhausted, I cannot speak much more, but I would not lose this opportunity of saying a few words to you, because I do not think, somehow, that I shall be much longer in this world, and we have been good friends, Camille, fellow-workmen together, and you often have been kind to me, and you are my own brother-in-law too. I entreat you to reflect, give up this wicked, seditious course, this warfare against the Christian religion, against Christ, against God. My words may not affect you now, but some day I know you will remember them, perhaps when I am gone, or when your own last hour comes and you stand confronted by the last enemy. Oh! Camille, it is never too late to repent and turn to God, Who is ever ready to receive sinners— once more, for my sake, for your wife and children's sake, if not for your own -I implore you to amend your ways." Camille was touched now, he grasped Louis' hand, he could not speak, but the tears ran down his cheeks-the man, who but a few hours before had been uttering hideous blasphemies and applauding those who were demanding the murder of all ministers of religion and the destruction of all places of worship, was softened now by the tender appeal of his suffering brother-in-law. Even in this degraded man there was a remnant of good, a better nature which might yet be aroused, some sparks of Divine Grace not yet extinct-for worse sinners even than him the Saviour shed His Blood; with beings still more sunk in sin and wickedness the Blessed Spirit still strives. "Well, Louis," he said at last, "to please you-as you are so ill -I will think about it, and I'll try and go less to the café and the club, and see if I can't make Clotilde and the children happier, and more comfortable." "Well that will be a good beginning at all events, Camille," said Louis, "don't forget your promise now At that moment Madame Laforce came in to put an end to the interview, which she felt had already been too long for her son's strength. Shortly after the little new year's gathering broke up, Meunier conducted his daughter and Josephine to the hospital church, where they were obliged to spend the night in the exercise of their duties, and Camille with his wife and children returned to their wretched home at Belleville. CHAPTER XX. THE BOMBARDMENT. "The story of that time will ne'er be known, Balloons like ships cleaving through storms their way; The shouts of those who came that belt of steel to pierce." THE much-talked-of bombardment had been so long deferred, that the Parisians were beginning to think that perchance, the capital was beyond the range of Prussian guns, and might escape altogether. The cannonade upon the surrounding forts had latterly increased in fury, it was calculated that 25,000 projectiles were hurled upon the forts of the east, between the 27th December and the 1st January: but all this had made little effect upon the walls, while comparatively few of their defenders had been killed. People became convinced of the powerlessness of the enemy's artillery against the town, so long as the forts still held out. But this was a delusion. About three o'clock in the afternoon of the 5th January, the first bombs passing over the walls fell upon the houses of Paris. In the garden of the Luxemburg, in the cemetery of Mount Parnasse, and the neighbouring quarters these first shells fell; during the whole of that night and through the following day, houses were constantly being struck, walls penetrated, ceilings and roofs broken through, while people who were walking in the gardens and streets, now and then fell victims to the murderous projectiles. During the night of the 8th, the bombardment became more violent, the entire portion of the city on the left bank of the Seine being exposed to the danger. The streets wore a gloomier and more deserted appearance than ever. Here and there they were strewn with broken glass or innumerable tiles, which had fallen from the roofs of the houses, gaping holes might be seen in many walls, in some places the whole interior being laid bare by the fall of a ceiling or a floor. The classes in all the schools on that side of the river had to be suspended. Churches, even hospitals, were struck, the splendid conservatory of Orchids at the Jardin des Plantes was destroyed. People might everywhere be seen endeavouring to remove their little stock of furniture from these dangerous parts, in order to seek a refuge on the safer right bank of the river-at all events for the coming night. Consternation was painted on the faces of some, curiosity on that of others, but all were filled with indignation, it being freely stated that the Prussians aimed specially at the hospitals. On that of La Pitié twenty shells fell and four patients perished in their beds; at the school of the Brothers of Christian Doctrine, in a dormitory for twelve scholars, seven were wounded, and the other five killed; terrible tragedies took place during that night, in one house, two young girls were killed and horribly mutilated in bed, in another a cantinière was killed in her sleep, a whole family at Choisy-le-roi were annihilated by one shell; two childern at breakfast with their father and mother were killed in the Rue Victor Cousin. A dozen people are drinking in a cabaret, a shell comes to scatter them; a mother is sitting at table with her two daughters, a shell smashes into the room, but does them no harm. In a house hard by, it bursts near two babies in their cradle, the mother rushes in, terror-stricken and swoons with joy to find that her babes are unhurt. In another house some soldiers are cooking their dinner, a shell comes tumbling into the pot, and the dinner is |