A man so evidently fond of music, of theaters, of the
world, to whom pressed flowers had meant something once--and now
contented to bleach upon these wastes! Not even desirous of a brief
holiday, but finding an old organ and some old operas enough recreation!
"It is his age, I suppose," thought Gaston. And then the notion of
himself when he should be sixty occurred to him, and he spoke.
"Do you know, I do not believe," said he, "that I should ever reach such
contentment as yours."
"Perhaps you will," said Padre Ignacio, in a low voice.
"Never!" declared the youth. "It comes only to the few, I am sure."
"Yes. Only to the few," murmured the Padre.
"I am certain that it must be a great possession," Gaston continued;
"and yet--and yet--dear me! life is a splendid thing!"
"There are several ways to live it," said the Padre.
"Only one for me!" cried Gaston. "Action, men, women, things--to be there,
to be known, to play a part, to sit in the front seats; to have people
tell one another, 'There goes Gaston Villere!' and to deserve one's
prominence. Why, if I was Padre of Santa Ysabel del Mar for twenty years--
no! for one year--do you know what I should have done? Some day it
would have been too much for me.
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