rom Paris through the Rhone Valley, you know."

"Then you saw Provence! And did you go, perhaps, from Avignon to Nismes
by the Pont du Gard? There is a place I have made here--a little, little
place--with olive-trees. And now they have grown, and it looks something
like that country, if you stand in a particular position. I will take
you there to-morrow. I think you will understand what I mean."

"Another resemblance!" said the volatile and happy Gaston. "We both seem
to have an eye for them. But, believe me, Padre, I could never stay here
planting olives. I should go back and see the original ones--and then
I'd hasten on to Paris."

And, with a volume of Meyerbeer open in his hand, Gaston hummed:
"'Robert, Robert, toi que j'aime.' Why, Padre, I think that your library
contains none of the masses and all of the operas in the world!"

"I will make you a little confession," said Padre Ignacio, "and then you
shall give me a little absolution."

"For a penance," said Gaston, "you must play over some of these things
to me."

"I suppose I could not permit myself this luxury," began the Padre,
pointing to his operas, "and teach these to my choir, if the people had
any worldly associations with the music. But I have reasoned that the
music cannot do them harm--"

The ringing of a bell here interrupted him. "In fifteen minutes," he
said, "our poor meal will be ready for you." The good Padre was
not quite sincere when he spoke of a "poor meal." While getting the
aguardiente for his guest he had given orders, and he knew how well such
orders would be carried out. He lived alone, and generally supped simply
enough, but not even the ample table at San Fernando could surpass his
own on occasions. And this was for him indeed an occasion!

"Your half-breeds will think I am one of themselves," said Gaston,
showing his dusty clothes. "I am not fit to be seated with you." But he
did not mean this any more than his host had meant his remark about
the food. In his pack, which an Indian had brought from his horse, he
carried some garments of civilization. And presently, after fresh water
and not a little painstaking with brush and scarf, there came back to
the Padre a young guest whose elegance and bearing and ease of the
great world were to the exiled priest as sweet as was his traveled
conversation.

They repaired to the hall and took their seats at the head of the long
table. For the Spanish centuries of stately custom lived at