raising without effort the waves gilded by the sun’s rays, like a queen who spreads out her gorgeous mantle.

Not far from thence was situated the village of Villamar, near a river as impetuous during winter, as calm and muddy during summer. The grounds around, well cultivated, presented the aspect of a chess-board, where each square revealed the thousand shades of green. Here shone the warm tints of the vine, then covered with leaves; there, the ash-colored green of the olive-tree; the emerald green of the fig-trees, which the rains of autumn had imparted growth to; further off still, the bluish-green hedges of aloes. At the mouth of the river were collected several fishermen’s boats.

Near the convent, upon a light hillock, stood a chapel; in front, a cross based on a block of masonry whitened with lime; behind this cross, a retreat of verdure: it was the cemetery. Stein went there to meditate upon the powerful magic of the works of nature, when he saw Momo leaving the farm and going towards the village. In perceiving Stein, Momo proposed to him to accompany him, and they both commenced their route. They arrived soon at the top of the hillock, near the cross and the chapel. This ascension, however short and easy, had taken away Stein’s strength, who was yet scarcely convalescent. He rested an instant; then he entered the chapel, whose walls were covered with “exvotos.” Among these exvotos there was one which singularly attracted by its strangeness. The front of the altar contracted itself towards the base in describing a curved line. Stein perceived there in the obscurity an object supported against the wall, and the form of which he could not distinguish. Fixing his earnest scrutiny on this object, he became assured it was a carbine. The size was such, and the weight must have been so great that it was incomprehensible how one single man could have the strength to place it in that position: it is but the reflection which is always inspired by the sight of the armor of the middle ages. The mouth of the carbine was so large that an orange could easily be introduced. The arm was broken, and the pieces were artistically put together by means of little cords.

“Momo,” said Stein, “what does this signify? Is it really a carbine?”

“In looking at it,” replied Momo, “it seems to me to be one.”

“But why do they place a murderous weapon in this holy and peaceful place? In truth, it is not sense to arm Christ with a pair of pistols.”

“But see, then,” replied Momo, “the carbine is not placed in the hands of our Lord; it is at his feet, as an offering. The day on which this carbine was brought here, they called this Christ, the Christ of Good Help.”

“And from what motive?” demanded Stein.

“For what motive!” said Momo in opening his eyes, “everybody knows that, and you know it not!”

“Have you forgotten that I am a stranger?” replied. Stein.

“That is true; I will tell you then: there was formerly in this country a highway robber who did not content himself with robbing, he murdered the people as if they were insects, whether from hatred, whether from fear of being denounced, or whether from caprice. One day two men of this village, two brothers, would undertake a journey. All their friends assembled to conduct them part of the way. There were abundance of good wishes that they might not encounter the bandit who gave quarter to no one, and who terrified everybody. But they, good children, commended themselves to Christ, and departed full of confidence in his protection. At the entrance of a wood of olives, they found themselves face to face with the robber, who came before them, with carbine in hand, rested his gun and aimed. In this extreme peril the two brothers fell on their knees, addressing themselves to Christ: ‘Help us, Lord!’ The bandit pulled the trigger, but whose soul was launched into another world? It was that of the robber: God caused the carbine to burst in the hands of the bandit. And you see now that, in memory of this miraculous assistance, they repaired the carbine with cords, and deposited it here, and it is the Christ who, since then, we implore help from. You knew nothing about it, Don Frederico?”

“Nothing, Momo,” he replied, in adding as if his own reflections: “If you know all that others are ignorant of, they who pretend know every thing.”

“Let us go! will you come?” said Momo after a moment’s silence. “You know I cannot wait.”

“I am fatigued,” replied Stein; “go along, I will wait for you here.”

“God protect you!” and Momo resumed his route, singing: