[#] Well, or well thou.
"Every man to his taste," said Juan, drily, as with a heedless foot he kicked off the beautiful scarlet flower of a rare cactus.
"Have a care, señor and your Excellency; my lord is very proud of his cactus flowers."
"Then come with me to some spot of God's free earth where we can talk together, out of sight of him and his possessions."
"Nay, rest content, señor; and untire yourself in this fair arbour overlooking the river."
"At least, God made the river," said Juan, flinging himself, with a sigh of irritation and impatience, on the cushioned seat of the summer-house.
Fray Sebastian seated himself also. "My lord," he began to explain, "has received me with all courtesy, and is good enough to desire my continual attendance. The fact is, señor, his reverence is a man of literary taste."
Juan allowed himself the solace of a quiet sneer. "Oh, is he? Very creditable to him, no doubt."
"Especially he is a great lover of the divine art of poesy."
No genuine love of the gentle art, whose great lesson is sympathy, did or could soften the Inquisitor's hard heart. Nor, had his wealth been doubled, could he have hired one real poet to sing his praise in strains worthy the ear of posterity. In an atmosphere so cold, the most ethereal spirit would have frozen. But it was in his power to buy flattery in rhyme, and it suited his inclination so to do. He liked the trick of rhyme, at once so easy and so charming in the sonorous Castilian tongue--it was a pleasure of the ear which he keenly appreciated, as he did also those of the eye and the palate.