“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 he saw the stranger in the back of the church again, and forgot his Dixit Dominus straightway. The face of the young man was no longer hidden by the slouching position he had at first taken. “I only noticed his clothes before,” thought the padre. Restlessness was plain upon the handsome brow, and in the mouth there was violence; but Padre Ignazio 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. 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 reddened, and became aware of the padre's features, moulded 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 astonished me to pieces. If you carried such associations as--Ah! the days and the nights!” he broke off. “To come down a California mountain,” he resumed, “and find Paris at the bottom! 'The Huguenots,' Rossini, Herold--I was waiting for 'Il Trovatore.”' “Is that something new?” said the padre, eagerly. The young man gave an exclamation. “The whole world is ringing with it,” he said. “But Santa Ysabel del Mar is a long way from the whole world,” said Padre Ignazio. “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 theatre's name. “And have you been long in America?” he asked. “Why, always--except two years of foreign travel after college.” “An American!” said the surprised padre, with perhaps a flavor of disappointment in his voice. “But no Americans who have 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.