“‘_Beatum Michaelem Archangelum, beatum Joannem Baptistam, sanctos Apostolos_,’ mutters Hennessy, looking over the other’s head, as if he didn’t exist anny way. “This took the Orangeman back a bit, but soon he perks up and slides a bit nearer: ‘_I_ wouldn’t go to Purgatory,’ he says again, and Hennessy goes on: ‘_Sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et semper_,’ he says, and never heeds him. “After a while the Down man gets quite mad, and he moves forward close up to the priest, and looks him straight in the face, and says very loud and distinct: “‘_I_ wouldn’t go to Pur--ga--to--ry!’ he shouts. “‘Well, go to Hell, then, _ne nos ’nducas in t’ntationem, sed lib’ra nos s’malo_,’ said the old man, all in a breath, and the Prodesan closed up.” I wish I could get O’Flynn to tell the story to a phonograph: but even then you would miss the _gratia vivax_ of the narrator. Dr. Walsh had finished his rubber, and had cut out. He joined the fireside group in time to hear the end of the last story; now he was stirred to emulation. “I heard you while I was at the whist table, Father O’Flynn, talking of the old French nobility; some of them are good friends of the Church, but they get taken in at times. When I was a student in Paris, I was told of one, who had married the Marquis de la Chose, a worthless fellow of as good blood as herself; but she was rich, and he hadn’t a sou. He wanted money after a bit for one thing and another, but she was very anxious to reform him, and she dealt it out with more care than he quite liked. So at last he comes to her with a great story of the fund they were raising for the Holy Father. ‘Peter’s Pence’ was the cry, and she ought to subscribe. She was as pleased as Punch to find him set on good works, and she forks out the money freely, and he brings her receipts, and all sorts of stories about the growth of the fund--_les deniers de Saint Pierre_--and she gives more and more. But one day two of his old friends saw him driving in the Bois with a lady with golden hair, and she was not the Marquise. “‘_Tiens_,’ says one, ‘but regard the locks of gold.’ “‘_Justement_,’ says the other; ‘_vous avez raison: ce sont les deniers de Saint Pierre_.’” With such-like faithful chronicles they beguiled the time, and I listened and laughed. But I had to get back to my hotel, and I craved leave to depart. Dr. Walsh offered to accompany me--“Just to be at hand if any of the St. Michael’s teachers or children happened to throw half a brick at the Inspector”--and we went off together. There were no half bricks, and the murmured remark of one half-dressed lad to a half-naked comrade, “Thur goes the ---- ould mon,” was purely affectionate recognition. “I didn’t feel sure,” said Walsh in a few moments, “that it would be safe to tell them inside there another Parisian story, but you may like to hear it: