or a pen and ink and a sheet of paper. "Just one, waiter; it is to
write a letter of recommendation."

And he wrote ten, twenty, fifty letters of recommendation a day. He
wrote them to the Cafe Americain, to Bignon's, to Tortoni's, to the
Maison Doree, to the Cafe Riche, to the Helder, to the Cafe Anglais,
to the Napolitain, everywhere, everywhere. He wrote them to all the
officials of the republican government, from the magistrates to the
ministers. And he was happy, perfectly happy.

One morning as he was starting out to go to the council it began to
rain. He hesitated about taking a cab, but decided not to do so and set
out on foot.

The rain came down in torrents, swamping the sidewalks and inundating
the streets. M. Marin was obliged to take shelter in a doorway. An old
priest was standing there--an old priest with white hair. Before he
became a councillor M. Marin did not like the clergy. Now he treated
them with consideration, ever since a cardinal had consulted him on an
important matter. The rain continued to pour down in floods and obliged
the two men to take shelter in the porter's lodge so as to avoid getting
wet. M. Marin, who was always itching to talk so as to let people know
who he was, remarked:

"This is horrible weather, Monsieur l'Abbe."

The old priest bowed:

"Yes indeed, sir, it is very unpleasant when one comes to Paris for only
a few days."

"Ah! You come from the provinces?"

"Yes, monsieur. I am only passing through on my journey."

"It certainly is very disagreeable to have rain during the few days one
spends in the capital. We officials who stay here the year round, we
think nothing of it."

The priest did not reply. He was looking at the street where the rain
seemed to be falling less heavily. And with a sudden resolve he raised
his cassock just as women raise their skirts in stepping across water.

M. Marin, seeing him start away, exclaimed:

"You will get drenched, Monsieur l'Abbe. Wait a few moments longer; the
rain will be over."

The good man stopped irresistibly and then said:

"But I am in a great hurry. I have an important engagement."

M. Marin seemed quite worried.

"But you will be absolutely drenched. Might I ask in which direction you
are going?"

The priest appeared to hesitate. Then he said:

"I am going in the direction of the Palais Royal."

"In that case, if you will allow me, Monsieur l'Abbe, I will offer you
the shelter of my umbrella: As for me,