was so hungry that even an indifferent meal would have seemed a
luxurious banquet, but the repast set before us might have satisfied an
epicure. We had a delicious soup, something like mutton-cutlets,
land-turtle steaks, and capon, all perfectly cooked; vegetables and fruit
in profusion, and the wine was as good as any I had tasted in France or
Spain. After dinner coffee was served and the abbe inquired whether I
would retire to my room and have a sleep, or smoke a cigarette with him
and Angela on the veranda.

In ordinary circumstances I should probably have preferred to sleep; but I
was so fascinated with Mademoiselle Dieu-donnee, so excited by all that I
had seen and heard, so curious to know the history of this French priest,
who talked of the court of Louis XV., who had created a country and a
people, and contrived, in a region so remote from civilization, to
surround himself with so many luxuries, that I elected without hesitation
for the cigarettes and the veranda.

CHAPTER XXVII.

ABBE BALTHAZAR.

Though my wounds had not ceased their smarting nor my bones their aching
my happiness was complete. The splendid prospect before me, the glittering
peaks of the Cordillera, the gleaming waters of the far Pacific, the
gardens and fountains of San Cristobal, the charm of Angela's presence,
and the abbe's conversation made me oblivious to the past and careless of
the future. The hardships and perils I had lately undergone, my weary
wanderings in the wilderness, the dull monotony of the Happy Valley, the
passage of the Andes, my terrible ride on the _nandu_, all were forgotten.
The contrast between my by-gone miseries and present surroundings added
zest to my enjoyment. I felt as one suddenly transported from Hades to
Elysium, and it required an effort to realize that it was not all a dream,
destined to end in a rude awaking.

After some talk about Europe, the revolt of the Spanish colonies, and my
recent adventures, the abbe gave me an account of his life and adventures.
The scion of a noble French family, he had been first a page of honor at
Versailles, then an officer of the _garde du corps_, and among the gayest
of the gay. But while yet a youth some terrible event on which he did not
like to dwell--a disastrous love affair, a duel in which he killed one who
had been his friend--wrought so radical a change in his character and his
ideals that he resigned his commission, left the court, and joined the
Soci