Suddenly he became aware that Cardington had been talking again, and
that he had shown indifferent courtesy as a listener. He roused
himself to attention, and detected at once the unusual flavour of his
companion's remarks, from which all jest had gone, showing instead a
poetical and reminiscent mood.

"The silhouettes of the trees which the electric light throws upon the
walk," he was saying, "remind me of a wonderful moonlight night I once
spent at Assisi. I was younger then than I am now, and it was my first
journey in that land of enchantment. I travelled as lightly as one of
the apostles, with staff and scrip, so to speak, and having resisted
the efforts of the cabman at the station to rob me, I started to walk
up to the city alone. I understand they have a trolley line now,--just
imagine the profanation of a trolley line in the ancient city of St.
Francis!--but at the time of which I speak, the atmosphere of the
Middle Ages still hung over the place unbroken.

"The city lay above the valley, white-walled and silent. I remember
touching with my stick what appeared to be a streak of moonlight that
had filtered through the branches of a tree, when a beautiful little
serpent uncoiled himself and slipped away into the shadows. Well, the
distance was greater than I had supposed, and the hour was late, so
that by the time I reached the city gate, I found it closed for the
night. There was nothing to do but to sit down and wait for morning.
I found a large, flat rock which seemed still to hold some of the heat
of the sun, and looked out over the surrounding country. Just think of
my situation! There I was, a young man fresh from America, full of the
most extravagant romance, sitting alone in the moonlight before the
gate of a mediaeval walled city, and a city, too, so rich with
traditions that I grew dazed in trying to recall them. It may be that