252 A MONTH IN THE FORESTS OF FRANCE. 



could be turned into a soulless, or simple, cool good- 

 bye. Everything, then, is custom ; yet still, I said 

 to myself, all the custom in the world has not sufficed 

 to make me on such subjects as cool as this young 

 priest. He only touched the cheeks certainly ; what 

 if by accident he had stumbled, and, swerving from 

 the cheek, had touched the lip ! 



" Be quiet, sir," I said reprovingly to myself, 

 ^' you, as a worldly self-seeker, can't comprehend 

 the well-regulated discipline of the clerical mind. 

 Tinder and a wet blanket catch not the fire alike; 

 so continue your journey without evil thoughts, and 

 talk to the holy man." 



This was totally beyond me ; so I fell into a sweet 

 dream of English kisses, and thought of stars and 

 moonlight nights, a shining river, and a glittering 

 ocean, forests, woods, and wilds, shoes that creaked 

 beneath the feet of de trops, and doors that creaked 

 or that did not creak — in short, all the passages or 

 tales of love that I had known or heard of in the 

 passing world. All at once I was aroused into more 

 active deeds by an abrupt stop, which pitched me one 

 way and the priest another (our line, even in the 

 confines of an omnibus, was in this instance luckily 

 wide of each other), accompanied by the rattled 

 out r's and stifled execrations of the coachman. 



