“Pardon me,” remarked the priest as they were ascending the creaking stairs, “but our people are inquisitive and somewhat given to gossip.” John smiled his understanding.
Morton was then ushered into a well-lighted room, the sombre walls of which were lined with well-filled book-cases, above which hung a number of paintings of religious subjects. When they were comfortably seated, Father Moskar begged his visitor to speak as frankly as he wished of all that he desired him to know.
From a little closet he brought out a couple of goblets, a bottle of golden wine and filled the two glasses. On the table was a box of cigars which he pushed over to his guest. The ice thus broken, Morton entered on his subject while the old priest listened most attentively, taking in every word said to him. When Morton had concluded, the old man said quickly:
“Herr Morton—I will do everything in my power—but do not tell me your plans. It will be better if I am not in your confidence. Count Arnim has told you that you could rely on me. I am honored; but it will be wiser if I act according to your instructions without being acquainted with your reasons. As I understand, your man, Herr McCormick, is now at the wagoner’s, who is one of my flock. He will be well served there. I am expecting, at any moment, the arrival of another member of my congregation—a certain Papiu Ilarian, who knows well both the mountains of our land and those south of the divide. He speaks German, Roumelian and Bulgarian well; he has been a soldier and knows how to obey; he is also strong, hardy and reliable. After I have talked with Ilarian, you will find him ready to do anything you ask from him. On receipt of the letter your man brought me, I thought it well to attend to a few of the preliminaries. At the wagoner’s you will find horses bred in our own hills and inured to the mountains. The wagoner has ready what you require and you will find he will deal honestly with you. I shall pray for you and the success of your venture. Ach—I hear the voice of Ilarian—pray permit me to see him alone first. Kindly make yourself at home.”
Father Moskar left Morton puffing idly at his cigar. He returned, however, in a few minutes followed by a man of medium height, with broad shoulders, short neck, close-cropped, round head, small, brown eyes deeply set under bushy brows, and a heavy mustache giving the deeply lined and tanned face a rather fierce expression. His large hands with prominent knuckles fingered nervously a well-worn plush cap. His stocky limbs were encased in leather breeches and heavy cowhide boots.
“This, honorable and gracious Herr Morton, is Papiu Ilarian,” remarked the priest. Morton nodded smilingly and a broad grin spread over Papiu’s face as he shyly shuffled and bowed. “I have been speaking to him and he tells me he is ready to start at once. He expects to receive two florins per diem, the customary fee of an Alpine guide, and his term of hire begins now and may end whenever you choose. I have given him information about the character of the work to be performed. You may rely on him. He has a younger brother, Mihai, lately a resident of Roumelia, who can also be hired, if you wish. He vouches for him. Mihai, however, speaks very little German, but he is quick and bold. I have sworn Papiu to obey and follow you. He wishes to shake hands with you to bind the agreement. If you will shake hands with him, Herr Morton—the oath to me will have been transferred to you. I will leave you together now and will return when you call me.”
He bowed gravely and passed through the door silently.
Morton had been scrutinizing the face of the guide while Father Moskar was speaking. Not a muscle of it moved, nor did he stir an inch from his rigid upright posture. The small, intelligent eyes looked at Morton steadily with calm assurance.
Morton rose and offered his hand with a hearty gesture. Papiu seized it in a vice-like grip. Morton felt the man would be as true as steel.
“Papiu, when we get back, I shall pay you liberally, and if we are successful, I shall make you rich!”