Peter crossed towards that side, and his companion followed.

They trod softly, like good Englishmen in church, and they moved up the aisle a little to see more clearly; and so, having reached a place from which much was visible, remained standing for a few seconds.
The light streamed from an altar, and from candles above it set around a figure of the Mother of God.

In front knelt a priest, and behind him, straggling back in the pews, a score or so of women, some children, and a blue-coated French soldier or two.

The priest's voice sounded thin and low: neither could hear what he said; the congregation made rapid responses regularly, but eliding the, to them, familiar words.

There was, then, the murmur of repeated prayer, like muffled knocking on a door, and nothing more.
"Let's go," whispered Pennell at last.
They went out, and shut the door softly behind them.