to do. The air of the mountains is delightful. The journey diverts the
mind."

In all of which he was quite right. And it was not for him, any more than
it is for the profane reader, to inquire why latter-day miracles are
nearly always performed at or near popular health resorts.

Was another in grief, Evasio Mon would send him on a long journey to a
gay city, where the devout are not without worldly diversion in the
evenings.

Neither was it upon hearsay only that he prescribed. He had been to all
these places, and tested them perhaps, which would account for his serene
demeanour and that even health which he seemed to enjoy. He had traveled
without perturbment, it would seem, for his journeys had left no wrinkles
on his bland forehead, neither was the light of restlessness in his quiet
eyes.

He must have seen many cities, but cities are nearly all alike, and they
grow more alike every day. Many men also must he have met, but they
seemed to have rubbed against him and left him unmarked--as sandstone may
rub against a diamond. It is upon the sandstone that the scratch remains.
He was not part of all that he had seen, which may have meant that he
looked not at men or cities, but right through them, to something beyond,
upon which his gaze was always fixed.

Living as he did, in a city possessing so great a shrine as that of the
"Virgen del Pilar," the scene of a vision accorded to St. James when
traveling through Spain, Mon naturally interested himself in the
pilgrims, who came from all parts of the world to worship in the