The stranger's face reddened beneath its sun-beaten bronze, and he became
aware of the Padre's pale features, molded 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 amazed me. If you carried such
associations as--Ah! the days and the nights!"--he broke off. "To come
down a California mountain and find Paris at the bottom! The Huguenots,
Rossini, Herold--I was waiting for Il Trovatore."
"Is that something new?" inquired the Padre, eagerly.
The young man gave an exclamation. "The whole world is ringing with it!"
he cried.
"But Santa YsabeI del Mar is a long way from the whole world," murmured
Padre Ignacio.
"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 theater's name. "And have you
been long in America?" he asked.
"Why, always--except two years of foreign travel after college."
"An American!" exclaimed the surprised Padre, with perhaps a tone of
disappointment in his voice.
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