"I am afraid, my Lord Abbot, there is only one answer possible," said the captain. "By noon this house must be empty, save for the guard."
"And if we resist?"
The captain meditated before he replied in grave tones: "Your Reverences will not resist. Your Reverences will protest and bow, without disgrace, to superior force. And if any injustice has been done, the Queen, or the judges in Lisbon, or the ministers, or the Parliament must be moved to put it right."
"And in the meantime," said the Abbot, "what will become of this consecrated place, and of its sacred belongings? We have an inventory of every valuable thing. If we go at noon will your Excellencies sign a copy of it, to remain in our hands?"
"They are not yours," squeaked the Viscount in greedy ire as he saw the loot slipping out of his hands. "All the things are Portugal's."
"Then, as a Portuguese, I will take care, Senhor Visconde, that Portugal does not lose them," the Abbot answered.
A grunt of delight came from the soldiery thronging the cell doorway. The Abbot took advantage of it to close the interview.
"Senhores," he said, "we will exchange our final answers to-morrow morning, after High Mass, at eleven o'clock. Till then these men will be ordered, no doubt, to respect our house and the life we lead in it. The guest-house is being prepared. I wish your Excellencies good-night."
The Viscount of Ponte Quebrada framed an answer, but as he glanced at the Abbot's face the words froze on his lips and he made haste to escape from the cell, at the captain's call. The monks remained behind, and the door was shut.
"Surely we are not going to let ourselves be ordered off to the guest-house?" the Viscount began as they regained the vestibule.