Glories of Spain

by Charles W. Wood

As we went through the haunted corridors to our rooms, Delormais came up the marble staircase, apparently somewhat hurried.

"We are both on the wing," he cried, "and so I the less regret your going. I thought to have stayed until to-morrow, but sudden news compels me to leave to-night. Summoned to Rome, I must obey. I know that I have a battle before me, and also know that I shall win. Conquering as a humble Vicar of Rheims, I shall not do less as Bishop of X. You will see me dismissed with a Cardinal's hat, an honour I would not cross the road to obtain, so little do I care for the pomps of the world. With such models before me as my father and mother and the good old Abbé, one feels that the only thing worth living for is to do good and cultivate the graces of the spirit."

We were in his room, scene of last night's vigil, where he had sketched an outline of his life and the hours had passed unconsciously.

"Another night of vigil, but without companionship," said Delormais. "On the contrary, time will only place distance between us. You go southward, I northward into France, reaching my destination about two o'clock to-morrow afternoon. Would that I might accompany you to Barcelona and gaze with you upon the wonders of that loveliest of cathedrals. Again I say that the Catalonian cathedrals are the glories of Spain. But my own has its charms, and those at least we shall often see together. I have your promise?"

We gave it unconditionally, in this instance not fearing to commit ourselves to a given date. Delormais was a man whose friendship was a privilege and whose sympathy and conversation made all days a delight. We parted, hoping to meet again.

Not long after this the omnibus rattled out of the courtyard, and our host intimated that time was up.

The sun had set, darkness had fallen when we clattered through the quiet streets. Passing the deep, round arcades we looked out for Rosalie, but no light, graceful figure speeding on its errand of mercy appeared. The arcades were again mysterious and impenetrable. We turned on to the bridge and for the last time looked upon the scene as the omnibus rattled on. All down the boulevard booths were on active service. Torches flared and still the crowd sauntered to and fro. The river flowed on its way, and all the outlines of those wonderful old-world houses were faintly visible. We knew them by heart now, and they were almost as real to us by night as by day.

The station once more. Only forty-eight hours had passed since we had struggled across that crowded platform, but we had gone through so many experiences, heard and seen so much, that many days seem to have flown. When we thought of Delormais it was impossible to realise we had not known him for years, visited his early home, joined in his travels. The father and mother, still the objects of his undying affection, the old Abbé in whom he delighted, had become personal friends by his vivid descriptions.

Reflections were suddenly put to flight as the omnibus brought up with a jerk that almost landed H. C. once more on his knees. The station crowd was small compared with that previous crowd. Again we had a slight adventure with our luggage, and began to fear in earnest that we and it should never reach Barcelona together. They refused to register or have anything to do with it; luggage was never booked to Gerona by the express. One other miserably slow train left in the early morning, and the officials calmly intimated that we might wait for it.

But a worm will turn, and we felt the law must be taken into our own hands. We bade the omnibus conductor leave at his peril, made him carry our baggage through the buffet to the platform, and when the train arrived, the whole, great and small, was put into a carriage. Then we followed and mounted guard. The inspector came up and demanded an explanation, upon which H. C. put on his Napoleon air and shouldered his umbrella. He looked so much in earnest that the inspector quailed, bowed, withdrew, and gave a hasty signal for departure. Away we steamed, masters of the situation.