Alas, that such feelings cannot last, nor such moments endure; that in
the footsteps of the priest, be he never so holy, treads ever the
grinning acolyte with his mind on sweet things. They pass, these
feelings, and too quickly. But once to have had them, once to have lived
such moments, once to have known a woman and loved her in such wise
leaves no man as he was before; leaves him at the least with a memory of
a higher life.

That the acolyte in Claude's case took the form of Louis Gentilis made
him no more welcome. Claude was still dreaming on his feet, still
viewing in a kind of happy amaze the simple things about him, things
that for him wore

The light that never was on land or sea,

and that this world puts on but once for each of us, when Gentilis
opened the door and entered, bringing with him a rush of rain, and a
gust of night air. He breathed quickly as if he had been running, yet
having closed the door, he paused before he advanced into the room; and
he seemed surprised, and at a nonplus. After a moment, "Supper is not
ready?" he said.

"It is not time," Claude answered curtly. The vision of an angel does
not necessarily purify at all points, and he had small stomach for
Master Louis at any time.

The youth winced under the tone, but stood his ground.

"Where is Anne?" he asked, something sullenly.

"Upstairs. Why do you ask?"

"Messer Basterga is not coming to supper. Nor Grio. They bade me tell
her. And that they would be late."

"Very well, I will tell her."

But it was evident that that was not all Louis had in his mind. He
remained fidgeting by the door, his cap in his hand; and his face, had
Claude marked it--but he had already turned a contemptuous shoulder on
him--was a picture of doubt and indecision. At length, "I've a message
for you," he muttered nervously. "From Messer Blondel the Syndic. He
wants to see you--now."

Claude turned, and if he had not looked at the other before, he made up
for it now. "Oh!" he said at last, after a stare that bespoke both
surprise and suspicion. "He does, does he? And who made you his
messenger?"

"He met me in the street--just now."

"He knows you, then?"

"He knows I live here," Louis muttered.

"He pays us a vast amount of attention," Claude replied with polite
irony. "Nevertheless"--he turned again to the fire--"I cannot pleasure
him," he continued curtly, "this time."

"But he wants to see you," Gentilis persisted desperately. It w