"You are standing," the youth rattled on, "in a monastery, or monasterium. The word is derived, ma'am, as you are aware, from monachus, a monk, and sterium, a sterium. This passage is called a corridor, from curro, meaning 'I run,' and dor, a door. You observe the doors on both sides. With your permission, ma'am, we will proceed to the kitchen."
The white kitchen was filled with bright sunshine. The sun's beams came flashing back from the great hood of burnished copper, and the singing torrent was quick with glancing lights. Young Crowberry showed Mrs. Baxter the long turnspit, turned by a wheel at the end, and gravely assured her that it was capable of roasting a pigeon, whole.
"What is that word Paz, between the windows?" asked Isabel.
"It is Portuguese for 'Peace,' the watchword of the Benedictine order," Antonio answered. "The monks here were Benedictines."
"What were they here for?" Mr. Crowberry demanded.
Antonio hesitated. Then he quietly gave the answer:
"To pray, and to praise God."
"Praise God, indeed!" cried Mr. Crowberry. "A fine way of praising God to stuff and guzzle from one year's end to another! I'll tell you what it is, da Rocha. You've got your tongue in your cheek. You're a man with fifty times too much sense to believe that the Almighty is pleased with the praises of a greasy pack of gormandizers and soakers. Thank goodness your country has turned 'em out."
He strode out of the kitchen with all the dignity of a churchwarden carrying the collection-plate into the vestry. The others followed.
"What is behind these doors?" demanded Mr. Crowberry.