She seemed to worship the very ground
he trod upon, and both were evidently in paradise. At the same time he
accepted the worship rather too much as his due--gracefully and
graciously, but still distinctly his right. They were in the mood to
admire lovely scenery, and undertones of delight were frequent.

Presently an old priest entered the carriage, sat himself down beside
us, and they quickly fell under his eye. He looked on with a smile of
amusement at the silent unmistakable worship. We thought he drew his
conclusions as one who observes a scene in which he has no part or lot.

"Love's young dream," he said to us under cover of the rattle of the
train. "My experience tells me it is only a dream, varying in length
according to the constancy of the dreamers. You think I have no right to
give an opinion? Then, senor, I should tell you that, like the world in
general, you judge by appearances and judge too hastily. That is the
difference between impressions and appearances. Of first appearances
beware; of first impressions be assured. They have never failed me."

We agreed with the old priest, but made no remark.

"You think I have no business to judge of these matters?" he continued
with a smile; "and you are mistaken. I was not always a priest clad in
black robe and beaver hat, separated from the world by the barrier of
the Church. In early life I took up law, pleaded, and generally won my
cause. Then I pleaded my own cause with a beautiful woman, won her and
married her. I, too, dwelt in my fool's paradise; thought the world all
sunshine, the hours all golden. I was young and in those days handsome.
Never can I reconcile the ugly, grey-headed man one becomes in age, with
the charm and elegance of one's youth. But time has no mercy. However,
the fact remains that in those days I was young and handsome."

The old priest was handsome still; but again we were silent.

"Then one fine morning I awoke to realities," he went on. "The angel
with the flaming sword had come and driven me out of my paradise. Yet I
had not transgressed. It was the woman, whom I fondly hoped heaven had
given me as a life-long companion. She was beautiful; there was an
indescribable charm about her; but she was frivolous and inconstant. She
left me one day with one whom I had thought my friend. He was rich and
free to roam. I heard of them in other countries: wandering to and fro
like spirits ill at ease.

"Finally they went to Rome. Was it