Worse and worse! The inconsistency of the reviler of things sacred, was becoming more barefaced and unpardonable. "Let him taunt me again!" I exclaimed, walking homeward; "let him mock me for my weak and childish notions, as he calls them, and attempt to be facetious at the expense of all that is holy, and good, and consolatory in life. Let him attempt it, and I will annihilate him with a word!" When, however, I grew more collected, I began to understand how, by such proceeding, I might shoot very wide of my mark, and give my friend an advantage after all. He had explained his presence at the church to his colleague by attributing it to a visit paid to a sick priest there. He should have no opportunity to prevaricate if I once challenged him. Now, he might have the effrontery to deny what I had seen with my own eyes, and could swear to. By lying in wait for him again, and accosting him whilst he was in the very act of perpetrating his solemn farce, I should deprive him of all power of evasion and escape. And so I determined it should be. In the meanwhile I kept my own counsel, and we went on as usual. I learned from the sacristan when the baron was next expected at the mass, and, until that day, did not present myself again at the Place St Sulpice. Before that time arrived, there arose a touching incident, which, as leading to important consequences, deserves especial notice. It was growing late one evening of this same summer--the surgeon was fatigued with the labours of the day--I was on the point of leaving him--he of retiring to rest, when Francois announced a stranger. An old man appeared. He was short, and very thin; his cheeks were pale--his hair hoary. Benignity beamed in his countenance, on which traces of suffering lingered, not wholly effaced by piety and resignation. There was an air of sweetness and repose about the venerable stranger, that at the first sight gained your respect, if not regard. When he entered the apartment he bowed with ceremony--and then waited timidly for countenance from the baron. "What is the matter with you?" asked the surgeon roughly. "Allow me to be seated," said the stranger, drawing his breath with difficulty, and speaking with a weak and tremulous voice. "I am very tired." The baron, as if rebuked, rose instantly, and gave his visitor a chair. "I am very old," continued the latter, "and my poor legs are weary." "What ails you?" "Permit me," said the stranger. "I am the priest of a small village very far from Paris." "Humph!" ejaculated the surgeon. "Two years ago I had a swelling in my neck, which the doctor of our village thought of no importance; but it burst at last, and for a long time I was kept to my bed a useless idle man. With four parishes and no assistant; there lay a heavy weight upon my conscience--but God is good, sir"---- "Show me your throat!" exclaimed the baron, interrupting him.