with silver locks, well-shaped hands, an aquiline nose, great unction,
the friendship of the lady worshippers, and, I venture to add, the esteem
of the rector.

While I was reciting the thanksgiving after service, and at the same time
unfastening the cords of my alb, the rector came up to me (I see him even
now) blowing his nose.

"My dear friend," said he, "you hear confessions this evening, do you
not?"

"Most certainly. Are you well this morning? I had a good congregation
at mass."

Having said this, I finished my thanksgiving, put my alb into the
wardrobe, and, offering a pinch to the rector, added cheerily:

"This is not breaking the fast, is it?"

"Ha! ha! no, no, no! Besides, it wants five minutes to twelve and the
clock is slow."

We took a pinch together and walked off arm in arm by the little side
door, for night sacraments, chatting in a friendly way.

Suddenly I found myself transported into my confessional. The chapel was
full of ladies who all bowed at my approach. I entered my narrow box,
the key of which I had. I arranged on the seat the air-cushion which is
indispensable to me on the evenings preceding great church festivals, the
sittings at that season being always prolonged. I slipped the white