"Didst ever take a setting hen from her nest and hold her under a pump, Cristoval, then release her?"
"Name of a saint! Of course I never did, thou unaccountable cook! Why should I?"
"Only to observe her state of mind—her indignation. Make trial of it some day, and thou'lt have Mauricio when he gave over questioning. Unctuous knave! Stew me! He should have no word from me against José, were I put to the rack for it!"
Pedro resumed his supper, and Cristoval studied him for a time with interest. At last he said abruptly: "Pedro, thou 'rt an uncommon man—a most singular and unexampled cook, by the faith! How comest thou by thy learning—thy Latin and curious lore? And having these, how comest thou a cook? What the fiend doth a cook with Pythagoras, and Cicero, and Cæsar?"
Pedro flushed, and leaned back, regarding the cavalier soberly. "Why, Cristoval," he said slowly, "'t is a long story—and one I do not tell."
"Oh, thy pardon, Pedro! I thought not to pry, believe me! Prithee, forget that I asked!"
"Nay!" said Pedro, reflectively. "It is natural, and I begrudge thee not an answer." He turned to his boy, who was sitting near: "Pedrillo, seek the sergeant of the guard, and ask him to explain to thee the theory of fortifications. Thou mayest some day find it useful." Pedrillo's chin dropped, and he retired slowly. Pedro continued: "It is a long story, Cristoval, but I will make it brief.—I was not always a cook, as I have said to thee before. I—I have a name. It is not Pedro. I am Luis de Cardeñas—of a family as ancient as thine, Peralta. Bien! I am a younger son, and, if thou wilt, an indigno—a worthless one. I was intended for the priesthood, and partly prepared for it. It was a mistake. I studied by day to the satisfaction of my instructors, but one night they found my bed arranged with the pillows lengthwise in a simulacrum of my form. I was elsewhere. Thus they found it the next night, and many following. I had learned to scale a wall, to sing a serenade, and mount to a balcony in a most unclerical way, Cristoval. My superiors held council. I was disciplined. Grew weary of bread-and-water, and escaped. Followed a regiment, and became a soldier. Was disowned by my family. Lost a leg at Pavia. Could soldier no longer, and so turned cantinero—sutler. Came across the sea, first to Cuba, then heard of Peru, and here I am—no priest, no soldier, and only five-sevenths of a cook. 'T is all. I am Pedro, el cocinero—Pedro, the cook. Know me thus, amigo and not otherwise." Pedro sighed almost inaudibly, and toyed with his knife. Cristoval extended his hand.
"I thank thee for thy confidence," he said gravely. "Thy name shall not pass me, but I am glad to know it. Thou hast been a friend, and if thou'lt believe me, hast made one."
Pedro accepted the hand without a word. Cristoval poured the chicha, they touched their cups and drank. After that, little was said, and, the supper finished, Pedro arose. "Now," said he, "I must go. I have been made lord chamberlain to the Inca until he shall be better provided, and must be up betimes. Adiós, Cristoval."
"Wait!" said Cristoval. "I will escort thee, my Lord Chamberlain. I've need to go to my quarters."