ectured, under the head-piece of a bandit
bonnet-grec, and within the girth of a sorry paletot, much be-inked,
and no little adust.

After that visit to the Rue des Mages, I _did_ want to see him again. I
felt as if--knowing what I now knew--his countenance would offer a page
more lucid, more interesting than ever; I felt a longing to trace in it
the imprint of that primitive devotedness, the signs of that
half-knightly, half-saintly chivalry which the priest's narrative
imputed to his nature. He had become my Christian hero: under that
character I wanted to view him.

Nor was opportunity slow to favour; my new impressions underwent her
test the next day. Yes: I was granted an interview with my "Christian
hero"--an interview not very heroic, or sentimental, or biblical, but
lively enough in its way.

About three o'clock of the afternoon, the peace of the first
classe--safely established, as it seemed, under the serene sway of
Madame Beck, who, _in propria persona_ was giving one of her orderly
and useful lessons--this peace, I say, suffered a sudden fracture by
the wild inburst of a paletot.

Nobody at the moment was quieter than myself. Eased of responsibility
by Madame Beck's presence, soothed by her uniform tones, pleased and
edified with her clear exposition of the subject in hand (for she
taught well), I sat bent over my desk, drawing--that is, copying an
elaborate line engraving, tediously working up my copy to the finish of
the original, for that was my practical notion of art; and, strange to
say, I took extreme pleasure in the labour, and could even produce
curiously finical Chinese facsimiles of steel or mezzotint
plates--things about as valuable as so many achievements in
worsted-work, but I thought pretty well of them in those days.

What was the matter? My drawing, my pencils, my precious copy, gathered
into one crushed-up handful, perished from before my sight; I myself
appeared to be shaken or emptied out of my chair, as a solitary and
withered nutmeg might be emptied out of a spice-box by an excited cook.
That chair and my desk, seized by the wild paletot, one under each
sleeve, were borne afar; in a second, I followed the furniture; in two
minutes they and I were fixed in the centre of the grand salle--a vast
adjoining room, seldom used save for dancing and choral
singing-lessons--fixed with an emphasis which seemed to prohibit the
remotest hope of our ever being permitted to stir thence again.