appeared
from out of the background, who held out to his brother with much grace
his small white hand whilst he with a polite bow asked Neuser, the
martyr of the hour, as to the state of his health. "I am well," said
the fat gentleman spitefully, "and hope the reverend Father is the
same." Paul paid no attention to the allusion but took his seat between
the Inspector and his brother. He must however have overheard part of
the discussion, for he said to Sylvan with a friendly smile: "Your
Colleagues let me know pretty well every evening, that they do not like
the presence of foreigners, and that they will not have in their
country either Calvinists, Lutherans, or Papists. But whom do they then
wish? A man must, so it seems to me, be a Heidelberger and drink a
quantity of beer and wine, otherwise he will never be a good cleric in
their eyes."

The stately Inspector shook his head. "I am myself not a native of the
Palatinate, and yet no one has ever told me, that I was in his way."

The Jesuit looked over his man. "You are a Bavarian, Sir?"

"No, I am from Tyrol, and was a Papist and moreover a zealous one."

"May one ask what damped that zeal?" said Paul with curiosity.

"Why not?" said Sylvan. "The story is not pretty, but it is interesting
for people like you, and cannot hurt me to relate, for it took place a
long time ago. I come from Trieste, and was educated by Abbot Altherr
in Innsbruck, and after being consecrated was sent as Chaplain in the
neigbourhood of Salzburg, to aid an aged Priest who found his duties
too much for him. Thus I came out of the Seminary into the world, with
my head full of plans for the improvement and reformation of men. I got
on very well with my fat old Colleague. He lived with his housekeeper,
and every afternoon went to Salzburg to drink the good Strohwein at St.
Peter's. That just suited me, as I then had the management of the
parish to myself. I carried my wisdom up and down the mountains,
preached the Gospel to the peasants till I perceived that they made fun
of me, and that their favorite Priest was he who kept most out of their
way. Feeling sore I concluded that if the peasants would not hear me I
would sit down in the library of the parsonage and set the world on
fire through some learned work. Whether I should write on the
archangels or the church-tithes would entirely depend on the books I
might find there to hand. But heaven only knows what the patristic
writings were that