seat themselves; Carron would find in his
prayer-book a sentence in French which would suit his turn, on a pinch,
and through the medium of the Latin would find the corresponding passage
in English in Norah's prayer-book and point it out to her. Norah, in
her turn, would select and point out some passage in English which would
serve as a tribute to Carron's charms, and he would discover in his
prayer-book, in French, what that tribute was. Why should we deem the
dead languages no longer a practical study, when Latin can gain for a
Frenchman an Irish wife!

Carron, as I have said, puzzled me. He had not the pensive air of one
who has seen better days. He was more than cheerful in his present life:
he was full of spirits; and yet it was plain that he had been brought
up for something different. I asked him once to tell me, for French
lessons, the story of his life. With the most charming complaisance, he
at once consented; but he proceeded in such endless detail, the first
time, in an account of his early boyhood in a strict Benedictine
monastery school, in the south of France, as to suggest that he was
talking against time. And although his spirited and amusing picture of
his childhood days only awakened my curiosity, I could never persuade
him to resume the history. It was always "the next time."

He seemed to be poor: but he never asked a favor except for others. On
the contrary, he brought me some little business. A _Belge_ had been
cheated out of five hundred dollars; I recovered half of it for him.
A Frenchman from _le Midi_ had bought out a little business, and the
seller had immediately set up shop next door; I succeeded in shutting up
the rival. I was a prodigy.

After a time I was told something further as to Carron's life. He had
been a Capuchin monk, in a monastery at or near Paris. The instant that
I heard this statement, I felt in my very soul that it was true. My
eye had always missed something in Carron. I now knew exactly what it
was,--a shaved crown, bare feet, and a cowl.

It was the usage for the brethren of his order to go about Paris
barefoot, begging. They were not permitted by the _concierges_ to go
into the great apartment hotels. But "Carron, _il est tres fin_," said
my informant; "you know,--'e is var' smart." Carron would learn, by
careful inquiry, the name of a resident on an upper floor; then he would
appear at the _concierge's_ door, and would mention the name of this
resident with such