over the face of Delormais. We did not
understand it at the moment, but knew its meaning later on.

Then he brought forward the coffee equipage, for which, if truth must be
told, though slumber was never farther from us, we were grateful.

"I had it all prepared by our amiable host, and I have my own
spirit-lamp, without which I never travel," said the priest. "There are
times when I visit the most uncivilised, hope-forgotten places, and if I
had not a few accessories with me, should fare badly."

The water soon boiled, an aromatic fragrance spread through the room;
the clear black coffee was poured into white porcelain cups.

"But where is the supplement? I do not see the century-old flask," said
Delormais.

"That is sacred to headache--or the charm would go; there are other
fixed rules besides the Persian laws."

"I am glad to hear it. Then after all my little homily this morning was
not needed. That is why you took it so amiably. Only the truth is
painful."

He placed for us a comfortably cushioned armchair near the table, and
one for himself. Our coffee equipage was between us, the steaming
incense rising. A shaded lamp threw its rays upon the white china and
crimson cloth, gently illumined the intellectual and refined face of
Delormais. We could note every play of the striking features, every
flash of the large dark eyes.

A sudden stillness came over him; he seemed lost in profound thought,
his eyes took a deep, dreamy, far-away look. They were gazing into the
past, and saw a crowd of events and people who had lived and moved and
had their being, but were now invisible to all but the mental vision.
The hands--firm, white, well-shaped and made for intellectual work--were
spread out and met at the tips of the long slender fingers. The legs
were crossed, bringing into prominence a shapely foot and ankle set off
by a thin well-fitting shoe. In all matters of personal appointment
Delormais was refined and fastidious.

For some minutes he appeared thus absorbed in mental retrospect. The man
of life and energy had suddenly changed to contemplation. Apparently he
had forgotten our presence, and the silence of the room was profound.
One almost heard the rising of the incense from the coffee-cups, as it
curled upwards in fantastic forms and devices, and died out. We were
motionless as himself. Not ours to break the silence, though it grew
strained. We had come to listen, and waited until the spirit moved him.
Nor