“‘Nay, then, if you believe me not—see rather if I tell not truth,’ said the poor lad, completely at his wit’s end; and, as he said the words, he turned the pockets of his _soutane_ inside out—when, what was his surprise (oh, miracle!) out rolled upon the ground three bran new silver small crowns, which seemed to jingle with most heavenly music as they fell at the feet of the poor mendicant, who, with a shriek of joy, gathered them up, and rushed from the church, before the thunderstruck abbé had as yet recovered from the awe and wonder into which the occurrence had thrown him. He remained for some moments riveted to the spot in a sort of beatified trance, unable to imagine it possible that so great a miracle could have been vouchsafed to so unworthy a sinner as himself. Once more he plunged his hands eagerly into the pockets of his _soutane_—but no other coin was forthcoming. Yes—it was evident—Providence had vouchsafed this miracle by way of encouragement to his weak endeavours. He put up an inward prayer for protection against the sin of self-conceit, as the thought overtook him, and, presently recovering himself, he rushed to the altar of the Virgin, and breathed forth his gratitude at her feet. So great was his emotion, that he resolved at once to spend the whole day in the church, in fasting and in prayer, that no earthly sentiment might mingle with the heavenly feeling thus awakened within him. “The poor abbé was, indeed, so elevated with the adventure, that he felt neither cold nor hunger, but remained the whole day praying at the different altars; nor did he suffer a morsel to pass his lips until set of sun. He then returned to the _Séminaire_ full of humility and gratitude, determined not to tell his adventure to any of his comrades, in dread of their unbelieving mockery. They were, however, all abroad—for was it not the feast of St. Nicolas, the gayest holiday in the year, the festival of the patron saint of all the youths and unmarried men in France; when even the poor _Séminaristes_ were allowed to spend the evening outside the walls of Saint Sulpice—and they had, of course, all taken advantage of the permission, excepting M. de Sèze, who rushed down the stairs in a perfect fury, as soon as the step of poor ‘Providence’ was heard; and, without a word of explanation, began to kick and cuff him most unmercifully, loading him with reproaches, until he was forced to pause for want of breath; and then the unhappy object of all this wrath was told that he deserved to be thrown from the window of the seventh story, for having deprived, by his carelessness, an old chum and comrade of his day’s holiday, by taking his new _soutane_ in the dark, and leaving his old rusty one in its place; and, worse than all, depriving him of the means of diverting his _ennui_, by robbing him of his money, three bran new crowns which he had put aside for this very occasion, and which he would find in the left-hand pocket!