His friend was in fact shedding great tears as he recalled the treachery of Vergarra.
"Cheer up, soldier! A drink to the extermination of the negroes would not come amiss."
Fray Diego admitted by a movement of his head that he would willingly be a party to this consolatory toast, but he did not move from his seat. They quaffed another glass, and the effect upon the emotional soul of the baron was so marvellous, that immediately he began dancing an English breakdown on the table, which did not stop Fray Diego's copious flow of tears.
"Hum! I don't care for this foreign dance," he observed at last with a final jump. "I prefer the danza prima.[K] Come here, Uncle Diego."
Whereupon he took the priest by force by both hands, dragged him from his chair, and made some turns with him, intoning one of the long monotonous songs of the country. Fray Diego felt rejuvenated as he was reminded of the spring-time of his life in the country, when his uncle, the Curé of Areces, thrashed him well for getting out of the window by night to pay court to the girls of the neighbouring villages.
"Listen, Diego," said the baron stopping suddenly. "Don't you think before we go on we had better drink a glass to the souls of our betters?"
The priest willingly assented, but the glasses and the empty bottles were rolling on the ground. The baron opened a cupboard and drew from thence fresh elements of spiritual life. This funereal glass inspired him with the happy idea of covering the chaplain's head with his own flat cap and adorning his own with the other's shovel-hat which was lying upon a chair. So clad they went on dancing, making a very remarkable pair. But the baron slipped and fell.
"Help me up, Uncle Diego."
The priest took him by his outstretched hands and pulled him up. But the weight of the noble was too much for him, and they both rolled on the ground together.
"Rise, Uncle Diego!"