Within, the little church murmured with low talking. Ordinarily, the congregation would have been absorbed in silent contemplation before the Presence of the Divine One, but the impressiveness of the occasion made the people depart from their usual fervor. The little church was only partly filled when the great procession arrived and every head instinctively turned in the direction of the entrance at the sound of their many footsteps. As they marched down the aisle every breath was held; then as they began to file into the pews reserved for them, the subdued murmur began again.
Marjorie and her father sat to the rear of the church in the company of the early arrivals. In fact the entire Allison family occupied the same pew, pressed, indeed, for room on account of the multitude which crowded its way into the church and into the small aisles. Round about them on every side sat the congregation, some of whom were already familiar to them, the majority of whom, however, were total strangers. From their appearance and demeanor it was not difficult to conclude, Marjorie thought, that more than one-half of them were non-Catholic.
The inside of the church was adorned in splendid array with the emblems of France and the United States. In the sanctuary, on each side of the altar, stood two large flags of the allied nations, while across the choir gallery in the rear of the church, there stretched in festoons, the colors of the infant republic superimposed in the middle by a shield bearing the likeness of Louis XVI. On the altar bloomed a variety of cut flowers, arranged in an artistic and fanciful manner on the steps of the reredos amidst a great profusion of white unlighted candles. The three highest candlesticks on each side had been lighted, and the little tongues of living flame were leaping from them joyfully. Over the tabernacle a large crucifix raised aloft, while just before the door of the tabernacle rested the chalice with its white veil, arranged in the form of a truncated triangle, shielding it from view.
For several minutes after the honorable body had been seated there was a confusion of feet and forms as the members of the congregation surged into the church. The pews filled quickly, and the more tardy and less fortunate individuals sought places along the aisles and along the rear. Overhead the small organ gasped and panted the strains of a martial air, the uneven throbbing of its bellows emphasizing the fatigue and exhaustion of its faithful operator.
"Is that the French Ambassador?" whispered Marjorie to her father.
"With the brocade and lace. Yes. Next to him is Mr. Hancock, President of the Congress."
She looked and saw the noble head and dignified bearing of the statesman. He sat very erect and majestic, presenting an appearance of taste and refinement in his suit of silken black.
"There is Mr. Adams, John Adams, with the great powdered periwig. The tall thin man seated at his right is Thomas Jefferson, who wrote the Declaration. He is, without doubt, the scholar of the Congress."
Marjorie followed his whispering with evident interest. Never had she been in the company of such notable men.
"Who is that? See! He is turning sideways."