s if he had fallen
into the fire in infancy. The traveler, so obviously clerical in his
dress, was walking slowly and smoking a cigar. He turned as Lucien
jumped down from the vineyard into the road. The deep melancholy on
the handsome young face, the poet's symbolical flowers, and his elegant
dress seemed to strike the stranger. He looked at Lucien with something
of the expression of a hunter that has found his quarry at last after
long and fruitless search. He allowed Lucien to come alongside in
nautical phrase; then he slackened his pace, and appeared to look along
the road up the hill; Lucien, following the direction of his eyes, saw a
light traveling carriage with two horses, and a post-boy standing beside
it.

"You have allowed the coach to pass you, monsieur; you will lose your
place unless you care to take a seat in my caleche and overtake the
mail, for it is rather quicker traveling post than by the public
conveyance." The traveler spoke with extreme politeness and a very
marked Spanish accent.

Without waiting for an answer, he drew a cigar-case from his pocket,
opened it, and held it out to Lucien.

"I am not on a journey," said Lucien, "and I am too near the end of my
stage to indulge in the pleasure of smoking----"

"You are very severe with yourself," returned the Spaniard. "Though I
am a canon of the cathedral of Toledo, I occasionally smoke a cigarette.
God gave us tobacco to allay our passions and our pains. You seem to be
downcast, or at any rate, you carry the symbolical flower of sorrow
in your hand, like the rueful god Hymen. Come! all your troubles will
vanish away with the smoke," and again the ecclesiastic held out his
little straw case; there was something fascinating in his manner, and
kindliness towards Lucien lighted up his eyes.

"Forgive me, father" Lucien answered stiffly; "there is no cigar that
can scatter my troubles." Tears came to his eyes at the words.

"It must surely be Divine Providence that prompted me to take a little
exercise to shake off a traveler's morning drowsiness," said the
churchman. "A divine prompting to fulfil my mission here on earth by
consoling you.--What great trouble can you have at your age?"

"Your consolations, father, can do nothing for me. You are a Spaniard,
I am a Frenchman; you believe in the commandments of the Church, I am an
atheist."

"_Santa Virgen del Pilar_! you are an atheist!" cried the other, laying
a hand on Lucien's arm with materna