After the Musee D'Orsay, we did remember our mortality-- or our mortality forced us to remember it-- and, so, returned via metro to our hotel and short naps. These naps were not long enough to truly refresh and reset the footsore, sunburned mess we had made of our bodies, but enough to enable us to press on. We set off for the last prioritized item on our list in the early part of the evening: the cathedral of Notre Dame.
Half an hour later, near seven, we arrived in the general area. My stomach was loudly commanding my head to hunt and to gather, and threatening to send me into organ failure. We found a sidewalk cafe; the sales person switched to English before we'd even finished our accented greetings, the interaction was thus fast and efficient, and we got our food to go. We sat on a low wall a hundred feet from Notre Dame and listened to the eloquent ringing of the bells as we ate.
In my case, scarfed. I've not seen such gooey, cheesey goodness in my life (I'd chosen a three cheese pizza); in retrospect, there were neater, more civilized options I could have gone for.
After we finished, we entered the building. Tourists were allowed to wander at their leisure, despite the fact a service was in progress. We were asked to be respectful, specifically to maintain a polite silence and to abstain from flash photography-- but most didn't read/ ignored the sign. It was in three or four different languages. That's human nature for you.
There were beautiful stained glass windows every direction I glanced. The cathedral definitely serves to remind one of one's mortality-- although I already felt that stamped on every line of my tired body-- but just in case I had forgotten, it glared somberly down in order to remind me.
Votive offerings.
This was a wonderful way to conclude the trip, in an homage to God. Two soloists, man and woman, were singing Latin in these powerful, operatic, voices that raised the hairs on my neck. Their song struck a decidedly different note than familiar Baptist hymns-- those haunting voices in this dim hall of stone--a note of sublimity. 
We returned to the hotel around 8 and watched an episode of Lost in French before falling into dreamless sleep.
