Antonio.—Brother, I cannot imagine what business brought you to this country.
Myself.—Perhaps the same which brings you to this moor—business of Egypt.
Antonio.—Not so, brother; you speak the language of Egypt, it is true, but your ways and words are neither those of the Calés nor of the Busné.
Myself.—Did you not hear me speak in the foros about God and Tebleque? It was to declare His glory to the Calés and Gentiles that I came to the land of Spain.
Antonio.—And who sent you on this errand?
Myself.—You would scarcely understand me were I to inform you. Know, however, that there are many in foreign lands who lament the darkness which envelops Spain, and the scenes of cruelty, robbery, and murder which deform it.
Antonio.—Are they Caloré or Busné?
Myself.—What matters it? Both Caloré and Busné are sons of the same God.
Antonio.—You lie, brother; they are not of one father nor of one Errate. You speak of robbery, cruelty, and murder. There are too many Busné, brother; if there were no Busné there would be neither robbery nor murder. The Caloré neither rob nor murder each other, the Busné do; nor are they cruel to their animals, their law forbids them. When I was a child I was beating a burra, but my father stopped my hand, and chided me. “Hurt not the animal,” said he; “for within it is the soul of your own sister!”
Myself.—And do you believe in this wild doctrine, O Antonio?