s retinue; one was young and
fair of face. He greeted Balthasar and said:

"My name is Gaspar. I am a king, and I bear gold as a gift to the child
that is about to be born in Bethlehem of Judea."

The second king advanced in turn. He was an old man, and his white beard
covered his breast.

"My name is Melchior," he said, "and I am a king, and I bring
frankincense to the holy child who is to teach Truth to mankind."

"I am bound whither you are," said Balthasar. "I have conquered my lust,
and for that reason the star has spoken to me."

"I," said Melchior, "have conquered my pride, and that is why I have
been called."

"I," said Gaspar, "have conquered my cruelty, and for that reason I go
with you."

And the three mages proceeded on their journey together. The star which
they had seen in the East preceded them until, arriving above the place
where the child lay, it stood still. And seeing the star standing still
they rejoiced with a great joy.

And, entering the house they found the child with Mary his mother, and
prostrating themselves, they worshipped him. And opening their treasures
they offered him gold, frankincense and myrrh, as it is written in the
Gospel.

THE CURE'S MIGNONETTE

TO JULES LEMAITRE

In a village of the Bocage I once knew a cure, a holy man who denied
himself every indulgence and who cheerfully practised the virtue of
renunciation, and knew no joy but that of sacrifice. In his garden he
cultivated fruit-trees, vegetables and medicinal plants, but fearing
beauty even in flowers, he would have neither roses nor jasmine. He only
allowed himself the innocent luxury of a few tufts of mignonette whose
twisted stems, so modestly flower-crowned, would not distract his
attention as he read his breviary among his cabbage-plots under the sky
of our dear Father in Heaven.

The holy man had so little distrust of his mignonette that he would
often in passing pick a spray and inhale its fragrance for a long time.
All the plant asked was to be permitted to grow. If one spray was cut,
four grew in its place. So much so, indeed, that, the devil aiding, the
priest's mignonette soon covered a vast extent of his little garden. It
overflowed into the paths and pulled at the good priest's cassock as he
passed, until, distracted by the foolish plant, he would pause as often
as twenty times an hour while he read or said his prayers.

From springtime until autumn the presb