“Alas, good wife!” interposed the good old Archimbaud, “didst thou not eat yesterday and yet thou hast eaten again to-day? Who knows but our son may be in the same sad plight!” And again his wife relenting went off and fetched a slice of bread for the poor beggar. The next day Espérit returned again to his home and said: “For God’s sake, my mistress, grant shelter to the poor pilgrim.” “Nay,” cried the hard old body, “be off with you and lodge with the ragamuffins!” “Alas, wife!” interposed again the good old Archimbaud, “give him shelter: who knows if our own child, our poor Espérit, is not at this very hour exposed to the severity of the storm.” “Ah, yes, thou art right,” said the mother, softening, and she went at once and opened the door of the stable; then poor Espérit entered, and on the straw behind the beasts he crouched down in a corner. At early dawn the following morning the mother and brothers of Espérit went to open the stable door.... Behold the stable was all illumined, and there lay the pilgrim, stiff and white in death, while four tall tapers burned around him. The straw on which he was stretched was glistening, the spiders’ webs, shining with rays, hung from the beams above, like the draperies of a mortuary chapel. The beasts of the stall, mules and oxen, pricked up startled ears, while their great eyes brimmed with tears. A perfume of violets filled the place, and the poor pilgrim, his face all glorious, held in his clasped hands a paper on which was written: “I am your son.” Then all burst into tears, and falling on their knees, made the sign of the cross: Espérit was henceforth a saint. (_Almanach Provençal_, 1879.) JARJAYE IN PARADISE JARJAYE, a street-porter of Tarascon, having just died, with closed eyes fell into the other world. Down and down he fell! Eternity is vast, pitch-black, limitless, lugubrious. Jarjaye knew not where to set foot, all was uncertainty, his teeth chattered, he beat the air. But as he wandered in the vast space, suddenly he perceived in the distance, a light, it was far off, very far off. He directed himself towards it; it was the door of the good God. Jarjaye knocked, bang, bang, on the door. “Who is there?” asked Saint Peter. “It’s me!” answered Jarjaye. “Who--thou?” “Jarjaye.” “Jarjaye of Tarascon?” “That’s it--himself!”