ldom, his quiet and
attentive air and his easy smile showed he possessed the still rarer
quality of listening well.

There was another figure, not exactly of this group, but at a little
distance off, beside a table in a recess, on which a number of prints
and drawings were scattered, and in the contemplation of which he
affected to be absorbed; while, from time to time, his dark eyes
flashed rapidly across to note all that went forward. He was a tall and
singularly handsome man, in the dress of a priest. His hair, black and
waving, covered a forehead high, massive, and well developed; his eyes
were deep-set, and around the orbits ran lines that told of long and
hard study, for the Abbe D'Esmonde was a distinguished scholar; and, as
a means of withdrawing him for a season from the overtoil of reading,
he had been attached temporarily as a species of Under-secretary to
the Mission of the "Nonce." In this guise he was admitted into all the
society of the capital, where his polished address and gentle manner
soon made him a general favorite.

Equally removed from the flippant levity of the abbe as a class, and
the gross and sensual coarseness of the "old priest," D'Esmonde was a
perfect man of the world, so far as taking a lively interest in all the
great events of politics, watching eagerly the changeful features of the
times, and studying acutely the characters of the leading men, at whose
dictates they were modified. Its pleasures and amusements, too, he was
willing to partake of moderately and unobtrusively; but he held himself
far apart from all those subjects of gossip and small-talk which, in a
society of lax morality, occupy so considerable a space, and in which
the great dignitaries who wear scarlet and purple stockings are often
seen to take a lively and animated share. Some ascribed this reserve
to principle; others called it hypocrisy; and some, again, perhaps with
more truth, deemed it the settled line of action of one who already
destined himself for a high and conspicuous station, and had determined
that his character should add weight and dignity to his talents.

It might have been thought that he was a singular guest to have
been admitted to receptions like the present; but Jekyl, who managed
everything, had invited him, on the principle, as he said, that a
gourmand has a decanter of water always beside him at dinner, "not to
drink, but because it looks temperate." The abbe's presence had the same
effect