“On arriving at the church-door, he was assailed, or rather waylaid, by a poor woman, an old pensioner of his, who rushed forward and fell at his feet the moment he appeared, declaring that she was a lost creature unless he came to her help; that she had passed the whole night wandering in the streets; that her landlord refused to give her admittance to her lodging to take away her few paltry rags, unless she paid him what was owing for the rent, which she had no means of doing unless through his bounty. Now it so happened that the young _Séminariste_, never overburdened with the good things of this world, found himself at that peculiar moment entirely _à sec_, and was awaiting his monthly allowance of pocket-money before he could venture to make his appearance among his poor pensioners, so boundless were his charities, so great his nervous dread of being compelled to refuse himself the pleasure of bestowing relief upon the needy—the only pleasure, indeed, which he ever allowed himself to enjoy—the only way in which he suffered himself to expend the scanty pittance which his aged mother could spare from her poor income for procuring, as she imagined, some few luxuries for her son. “It was in vain, however, that the young abbé endeavoured to assure the poor woman of his utter inability to assist her this once. In vain he endeavoured to shake her off—she clung to his knees—she bathed his feet with her tears—she called on the Lord to bless him, her tender benefactor—she _knew_ that he would relieve her—that he would not have the heart to see her four poor fatherless children turned into the streets to starve. What was a miserable sum of three small crowns (_petits écus_) to such a noble gentleman? Why, he would not miss such a paltry sum at night, were his pocket picked of it before he returned home. “‘But my good woman,’ said he, completely overcome by her importunity, ‘rich as you think me, I have not at this moment a single _sou_ in my possession.’ “‘Nay, nay, feel in your pockets, monseigneur; you will surely find enough to save me and my helpless babes from starving. It is not much, my lord bishop (for you will surely become one day a bishop), only three poor crowns!’ “‘But on my word, _ma bonne amie_, I have it not—were you to search my pockets through, I tell you again, you would not find a single _sou_.’ “‘Ay, that is ever the way,’ screamed the woman, clinging to the skirt of his _soutane_, which she held fast in her grasp; ‘that is ever the way with rich and noble gentlemen whose pockets are lined with gold and silver—they never have a coin so small as a single _sou_—but search, in Heaven’s name, and you will surely find my three poor crowns, which are all that stand between me and perdition.’