The Priest, smiling, again said, "You speak as one who knows not the world. I mean not the outward, material world, the common machinery which moves the every-day actions of men: any coarse, ordinary being, with a little cunning and observation, may gain sufficient knowledge of that to accumulate wealth, and to guide his way free from danger amid the throngs of his fellows. But I speak of the minds and passions, the inward and intricate workings of the souls of men; of that accurate knowledge of the past, and keen observation of the present, by which we can foresee the future, thus to be able to determine exactly how mankind will act in masses or as individuals, and stoically to look upon the world as a vast chess-board, and its inhabitants as the chess-men, whom we move without any volition of their own, as a player free from any part or feeling with the senseless blocks; as well as to learn how to gain a command over ourselves, and thus to soar above the passions, the frailties, the vanities, and the folly of the common herd. Such is the true knowledge of the world to which a philosophical mind and dauntless soul may attain; and in such, my young friend, would I instruct you." Don Luis remained silent with astonishment, while the priest keenly marked the effect of his words. "Is this the man," he thought, "whom I have regarded as the humble priest and confessor--the meekly-pious minister of our holy faith? But how and where can this knowledge be attained?" he said, looking up; "what means have I of learning the lore you speak of?" "Have I not said that I would instruct you?" said the Priest. "Within the quiet precincts of these walls you may learn the first rudiments, and within the pale of our order you may become a master in the science." "What! can you advise me to give up my title, my name, and fortune, and to assume the gown of a priest?" exclaimed Don Luis, hurriedly. "I expected not such advice from you."