Next day was Sunday, and Father Hamilton went to Mass leaving me to my own affairs, that were not of that complexion perhaps most becoming on that day to a lad from Scotland. He came back anon and dressed most scrupulously in a suit of lay clothing. “Come out, Master Greig,” said he, “and use thine eyes for a poor priest that has ruined his own in studying the Fathers and seeking for honesty.” “It is not in the nature of a compliment to myself, that,” I said, a little tired of his sour sentiments regarding humanity, and not afraid in the least to tell him so. “Eh!” said he. “I spoke not of thee, thou savage. A plague on thy curt temper; 'twas ever the weakness of the Greigs. Come, and I shall show thee a house where thy uncle and I had many a game of dominoes.” We went to a coffee-house and watched the fashionable world go by. It was a sight monstrously fine. Because it was the Easter Sunday the women had on their gayest apparel, the men their most belaced _jabots_. “Now look you well, Friend Scotland,” said Father Hamilton, as we sat at a little table and watched the stream of quality pass, “look you well and watch particularly every gentleman that passes to the right, and when you see one you know tell me quickly.” He had dropped his Roman manner as if in too sober a mood to act. “Is it a game?” I asked. “Who can I ken in the town of Versailles that never saw me here before?” “Never mind,” said he, “do as I tell you. A sharp eye, and-” “Why,” I cried, “there's a man I have seen before!” “Where? where?” said Father Hamilton, with the utmost interest lighting his countenance. “Yonder, to the left of the man with the velvet breeches. He will pass us in a minute or two.” The person I meant would have been kenspeckle in any company by the splendour of his clothing, but beyond his clothing there was a haughtiness in his carriage that singled him out even among the fashionables of Versailles, who were themselves obviously interested in his personality, to judge by the looks that they gave him as closely as breeding permitted. He came sauntering along the pavement swinging a cane by its tassel, his chin in the air, his eyes anywhere but on the crowds that parted to give him room. As he came closer I saw it was a handsome face enough that thus was cocked in haughtiness to the heavens, not unlike Clancarty's in that it showed the same signs of dissipation, yet with more of native nobility in it than was in the good enough countenance of the French-Irish nobleman. Where had I seen that face before? It must have been in Scotland; it must have been when I was a boy; it was never in the Mearns. This was a hat with a Dettingen cock; when I saw that forehead last it was under a Highland bonnet. A Highland bonnet--why! yes, and five thousand Highland bonnets were in its company--whom had I here but Prince Charles Edward!