bt had himself helped to celebrate
many a midnight mass, perhaps both in and out of a monastery. He was the
most interesting character at table, tall, distinguished looking, with
flowing white hair, a singularly handsome face and magnificent head. The
system of serving was different from most hotels. Dishes were not handed
round, but every person or party had placed before them their own dish,
of which each took as much or as little as they pleased. Whether the
priest was father confessor to the ladies of the inn, or whether they
merely had a very proper respect for his cloth, we knew not, but he
invariably came in for a Benjamin's portion, and sent most of it away
untasted.

Also it was evident that he could sit in judgment on others. The next
day at luncheon he took his seat next to us. We were suffering from
headache, which has made life more or less a burden. Severe diseases
require strong remedies. We ate dry bread, and drank sundry cups of
black coffee mixed with brandy; the latter half a century old and almost
as mild as milk, its healing properties sovereign. The priest, we say,
sat next, and we almost resented his not leaving the breathing interval
of a chair between us, where empty chairs were abundant. The Silent
Enigma at the lower end of the table were quite a long way off. At our
second cup, the priest looked anxious; at our third, reproachful; at our
fourth and last, contained himself no longer. Yet the four cups were
only equal to two ordinary black-coffee cups.

Possibly the priest thought age conferred privilege. He was also
probably impulsive, and like all similar people often said and did the
wrong thing. But he was evidently actuated by a pure spirit of
philanthropy, which would set the world to rights if it could accomplish
the impossible. Looking earnestly at us, he spoke, and then we found he
was a Frenchman.

"Monsieur," he said in his own tongue, "that is a most insidious
beverage, fatal to digestion, destructive to the nerves. If I see any
one repeating the dose, at the risk of being thought indiscreet, I
cannot avoid speaking. When I count up to the fourth cup, I feel they
are in jeopardy. And shall I tell you why?--I speak from experience. I
once myself was nearly overcome by the fatal basilisk, only that in my
case it was strong waters without coffee more often than with it. For a
time it was a question which should conquer, the tempter or the better
nature. Then came a period in which I