"Ah, voile man envie, Voila mon seul desir: Rendez moi ma patrie, Ou laissez moi mourir." Which may be rendered: But one wish I implore, One wish is all my cry: Give back my native land once more, Give back, or let me die. Then it happened that his eye fell again upon the stranger near the door, and he straightway forgot his Dixit Dominus. The face of the young man was no longer hidden by the slouching position he had at first taken. "I only noticed his clothes at first," thought the Padre. Restlessness was plain upon the handsome brow, and violence was in the mouth; but Padre Ignacio liked the eyes. "He is not saying any prayers," he surmised, presently. "I doubt if he has said any for a long while. And he knows my music. He is of educated people. He cannot be American. And now--yes, he has taken--I think it must be a flower, from his pocket. I shall have him to dine with me." And vespers ended with rosy clouds of eagerness drifting across the Padre's brain. II But the stranger made his own beginning. As the priest came from the church, the rebellious young figure was waiting. "Your organist tells me," he said, impetuously, "that it is you who--" "May I ask with whom I have the great pleasure of speaking?" said the Padre, putting formality to the front and his pleasure out of sight. The stranger's face reddened beneath its sun-beaten bronze, and he became aware of the Padre's pale features, molded by refinement and the world. "I beg your lenience," said he, with a graceful and confident utterance, as of equal to equal. "My name is Gaston Villere, and it was time I should be reminded of my manners." The Padre's hand waved a polite negative. "Indeed, yes, Padre. But your music has amazed me. If you carried such associations as--Ah! the days and the nights!"--he broke off. "To come down a California mountain and find Paris at the bottom! The Huguenots, Rossini, Herold--I was waiting for Il Trovatore." "Is that something new?" inquired the Padre, eagerly. The young man gave an exclamation. "The whole world is ringing with it!" he cried. "But Santa Ysabel del Mar is a long way from the whole world," murmured Padre Ignacio. "Indeed, it would not appear to be so," returned young Gaston. "I think the Comedie Francaise must be round the corner." A thrill went through the priest at the theater's name. "And have you been long in America?" he asked. "Why, always--except two years of foreign travel after college." "An American!" exclaimed the surprised Padre, with perhaps a tone of disappointment in his voice. "But no Americans who are yet come this way have been--have been"--he veiled the too-blunt expression of his thought--"have been familiar with The Huguenots," he finished, making a slight bow.