Some faint feeling of awe and wonder touched the Inquisitor's heart, and silenced him for an instant. Then, recovering himself, and falling back for help upon wonted words of course, he said,--
"I entreat of you to think of your soul."
"I have thought of it long ago. I have given it into the safe keeping of Christ my Lord. Therefore I think no more of it; I only think of him."
"But have you no fear of the anguish--the doom of fire?"
"I have no fear," Carlos answered. And this was a great mystery, even to himself. "Christ's hand will either lift me over it or sustain me through it; which, I know not yet. And I am not careful; he will care."
"Men of noble lineage, such as you are--of high honour and stainless name, such as you were," said the Inquisitor--"ofttimes dread shame more than agony. You, who were called Alvarez de Meñaya, what think you of the infamy, the loathing of all men, the scorn and mockery of the lowest rabble--the zamarra, the carroza?"
"I shall joyfully go forth with Him without the camp, bearing his reproach."
"And stand at the stake beside a vile caitiff, a miserable muleteer, convicted of the same crimes?"
"A muleteer? Juliano Hernandez?" Carlos questioned eagerly.
"The same."