Suddenly up came an old woman, who point-blank demanded alms.
"Good," thought I; "here comes the waiter with the bill."
And I paid for my night's lodging on the spot. Take it how you please, but this was the first and the last beggar that I met with during all my tour.
A step or two farther I was overtaken by an old man in a brown nightcap, clear-eyed, weather-beaten, with a faint excited smile. A little girl followed him, driving two sheep and a goat; but she kept in our wake, while the old man walked beside me and talked about the morning and the valley. It was not much past six; and for healthy people who have slept enough that is an hour of expansion and of open and trustful talk.
"Connaissez-vous le Seigneur?" he said at length.
I asked him what Seigneur he meant; but he only repeated the question with more emphasis and a look in his eyes denoting hope and interest.
"Ah," said I, pointing upwards, "I understand you now. Yes, I know Him; He is the best of acquaintances."
The old man said he was delighted. "Hold," he added, striking his bosom; "it makes me happy here." There were a few who knew the Lord in these valleys, he went on to tell me; not many, but a few. "Many are called," he quoted, "and few chosen."
"My father," said I, "it is not easy to say who know the Lord; and it is none of our business. Protestants and Catholics, and even those who worship stones, may know Him and be known by Him; for He has made all."
I did not know I was so good a preacher.