!" said the baron, without changing colour or moving a muscle,
although I blushed at his side to my very forehead; "Oh! a sick priest,
placed under my care by the Duchess d'Angouleme--nothing more."

"Well, I could hardly believe that you had turned saint--that is the
truth."

"Not yet--not yet!" added the baron, laughing out. "This is to be the
saint," he continued, tapping me on the shoulders. "St Walpole! That
will look very fine in the calendar! However, my friend, if they attempt
to canonize you whilst I live, I'll act the part of devil's advocate,
and contest your right of admission, if it is only to punish you for
your opposition to me in this world. So take care of yourself, and read
up your divinity."

And with these words the unmitigated hypocrite, chuckling at my apparent
confusion, advanced to the door, and welcomed his crowding visitors.

Upon the following day I repaired to St Sulpice--but I did not see the
baron. I went again and again, with no better success. For a week I
attended the service daily--still no baron. Afterwards I went twice
a-week. At the end of two months I contented myself with one visit
weekly--still no baron. I did not like to give up the watch. I could not
tell _why_ I felt sure of meeting with him again; yet so I felt, and I
was curious to know how far he carried his madness, and what object he
proposed to himself in the prosecution and indulgence of his monomania.
Three months elapsed, and I was at length paid for my perseverance. For
a second time I saw the baron enter the church--assist devoutly at the
celebration of mass at the chapel of the Virgin Mary--repeat his
prayers, and offer up his alms. There was the same solemnity of bearing
during the ceremony, the same cheerful self-possession at its
completion. A more methodical madness there could not be! I was
determined this time not to lose sight of my gentleman, without
obtaining at least a clue to his extraordinary behaviour. As soon as the
service as over, he prepared for his departure. Before he could quit the
church, however, I crossed it unperceived by him, and walked straight up
to the sacristan.

"Who is that gentleman?" I asked, pointing to the surgeon.

"Monsieur F----," he answered readily enough--so readily, that I hardly
knew what to ask next. "A regular attendant, sir," the sacristan
continued, in an impressive tone of approbation.

"Indeed!" said I.

"Ay. I have been here twelve years next Easter, and fou