ly. "I doubt if he has said any for a long while.
And he knows my music. He is of educated people. He cannot be American.
And now--yes, he has taken--I think it must be a flower, from his
pocket. I shall have him to dine with me." And vespers ended with rosy
clouds of eagerness drifting across the Padre's brain.

II

But the stranger made his own beginning. As the priest came from the
church, the rebellious young figure was waiting. "Your organist tells
me," he said, impetuously, "that it is you who--"

"May I ask with whom I have the great pleasure of speaking?" said the
Padre, putting formality to the front and his pleasure out of sight.

The stranger's face reddened beneath its sun-beaten bronze, and he
became aware of the Padre's pale features, molded by refinement and the
world. "I beg your lenience," said he, with a graceful and confident
utterance, as of equal to equal. "My name is Gaston Villere, and it was
time I should be reminded of my manners."

The Padre's hand waved a polite negative.

"Indeed, yes, Padre. But your music has amazed me. If you carried such
associations as--Ah! the days and the nights!"--he broke off. "To come
down a California mountain and find Paris at the bottom! The Huguenots,
Rossini, Herold--I was waiting for Il Trovatore."

"Is that something new?" inquired the Padre, eagerly.

The young man gave an exclamation. "The whole world is ringing with it!"
he cried.

"But Santa Ysabel del Mar is a long way from the whole world," murmured
Padre Ignacio.

"Indeed, it would not appear to be so," returned young Gaston. "I think
the Comedie Francaise must be round the corner."

A thrill went through the priest at the theater's name. "And have you
been long in America?" he asked.

"Why, always--except two years of foreign travel after college."

"An American!" exclaimed the surprised Padre, with perhaps a tone of
disappointment in his voice. "But no Americans who are yet come this
way have been--have been"--he veiled the too-blunt expression of his
thought--"have been familiar with The Huguenots," he finished, making a
slight bow.

Villere took his under-meaning. "I come from New Orleans," he returned,
"and in New Orleans there live many of us who can recognize a--who can
recognize good music wherever we hear it." And he made a slight bow in
his turn.

The Padre laughed outright with pleasure and laid his hand upon the
young man's arm. "You have no intention of going away