The rain came down in torrents, swamping the sidewalks and inundating the streets. M. Marin was obliged to take shelter in a doorway. An old priest was standing there--an old priest with white hair. Before he became a councillor M. Marin did not like the clergy. Now he treated them with consideration, ever since a cardinal had consulted him on an important matter. The rain continued to pour down in floods and obliged the two men to take shelter in the porter's lodge so as to avoid getting wet. M. Marin, who was always itching to talk so as to let people know who he was, remarked: “This is horrible weather, Monsieur l'Abbe.” The old priest bowed: “Yes indeed, sir, it is very unpleasant when one comes to Paris for only a few days.” “Ah! You come from the provinces?” “Yes, monsieur. I am only passing through on my journey.” “It certainly is very disagreeable to have rain during the few days one spends in the capital. We officials who stay here the year round, we think nothing of it.” The priest did not reply. He was looking at the street where the rain seemed to be falling less heavily. And with a sudden resolve he raised his cassock just as women raise their skirts in stepping across water. M. Marin, seeing him start away, exclaimed: “You will get drenched, Monsieur l'Abbe. Wait a few moments longer; the rain will be over.” The good man stopped irresistibly and then said: “But I am in a great hurry. I have an important engagement.” M. Marin seemed quite worried. “But you will be absolutely drenched. Might I ask in which direction you are going?” The priest appeared to hesitate. Then he said: “I am going in the direction of the Palais Royal.” “In that case, if you will allow me, Monsieur l'Abbe, I will offer you the shelter of my umbrella: As for me, I am going to the council. I am a councillor of state.” The old priest raised his head and looked at his neighbor and then exclaimed: “I thank you, monsieur. I shall be glad to accept your offer.” M. Marin then took his arm and led him away. He directed him, watched over him and advised him. “Be careful of that stream, Monsieur l'Abbe. And be very careful about the carriage wheels; they spatter you with mud sometimes from head to foot. Look out for the umbrellas of the people passing by; there is nothing more dangerous to the eyes than the tips of the ribs. Women especially are unbearable; they pay no heed to where they are going and always jab you in the face with the point of their parasols or umbrellas. And they never move aside for anybody. One would suppose the town belonged to them. They monopolize the pavement and the street. It is my opinion that their education has been greatly neglected.” And M. Marin laughed. The priest did not reply. He walked along, slightly bent over, picking his steps carefully so as not to get mud on his boots or his cassock. M. Marin resumed: “I suppose you have come to Paris to divert your mind a little?” The good man replied: