And still, after all these years, the fatherly friar often fondly recurred to a time when he had first seemed to catch some dim, shadowed glimpse of that inner self which Fra Paolo so rarely expressed.  He had been endeavoring to rouse the lad to enthusiasm.  “Never have I known one show so little pleasure in nature,” he had said.  They were standing on the terrace of a convent among the hills beyond the plains of Venetia, and the view was beautiful and new for the youth.

“What is nature?” the lad had responded quietly.

“Nature?” Fra Giulio echoed, startled at the question.  “Why, nature is God’s creation.  Dost thou not find this bit of nature beautiful?”

“It is pleasant,” the young friar had assented, without enthusiasm.  “But hath God created anything nobler than the mind and soul of man?  The earth is but for his habitation.”

“Nay,” the old man had replied, in a tone of disappointment, “it is more for me—­much more for those whom we call poets.”

“Poets are dreamers,” the lad had said, turning to his old friend with a smile which seemed affectionate, yet was baffling, and went not deep enough for love.  “I would not dream; I must know.”

“A little dreaming would not hurt thee, my Paolo; for sometimes it seemeth to those who care for thee that thou needest rest.”

“Rest is satisfaction,” the lad answered quickly.  “If there be a problem to be solved, I would rather think than dream.  I would rather come in contact with the nobler activities—­the mental and spiritual forces—­through the minds and works of men.  I would find such attrition more helpful than this phase of creation which thou callest ‘nature,’ whose unfolding is more passive, depending on its inherent law.”

“This also is of God’s gift, Paolo mio,” Fra Giulio had said yearningly.  “Sometimes thou seemest to find too little beauty in thy life, and when I brought thee hither I hoped it might move thy soul.”

“What can be more beautiful,” the young philosopher had questioned earnestly, “than the fitting of all to each, the search for hidden keys, the linking of problems that seemed apart?  These are the things that move me.  I must walk soberly, Fra Giulio, lest I miss some revelation, so sacred and so mysterious is knowledge!  And the love of it leaves me no room for questions of outside beauty—­this ordered beauty of hidden law is so wonderful!”

For one moment, as Fra Giulio had looked at him, he fancied that he had seen deeper into his eyes than ever before; then the veil had seemed to rise up from the boy’s heart and close over its depths.  If it had been a moment of self-revelation the young friar was again protected by that baffling calm as he glanced about him, turning affectionately to his old friend.  “It pleaseth me that thou art pleased,” he said.

Fra Giulio had answered with a sigh.  It was hard for one who loved so truly to get so near, yet be no nearer.  “I could wish that thou also shouldst take pleasure in this beauty, my Paolo, for thou art missing a joy that God permits.”