"I am heartily glad to see you, my Lord," said the Prelate, turning abruptly and confronting his visitor: "it is now two years since I met your Lordship in Rome. It was, you remember, just before you departed to Mexico, as the Legate of His Holiness. How has it been with you since I saw you last?"
"I have encountered many adventures," answered "His Lordship," the Legate, "and none more interesting than those connected with the Mission of San Luis and its lands—"
Thus saying the Legate—in obedience to a courteous gesture from the Prelate—flung aside his hat and cloak, and took a seat by the table.
The Legate was none other than our friend Gaspar Manuel.
They were in singular contrast, the Legate and the Prelate. The muscular form and hard practical face of the Prelate, was certainly, in strong contrast with the slender frame, and pale—almost corpse-like—face of the Legate, with its waving hair and beard of inky blackness. Conscious that their conversation might one day have its issue, in events or in disclosures of vital importance, they for a few moments surveyed each other in silence. When the Prelate spoke, there was an air of deference in his manner, which showed that he addressed one far superior to himself in position, in rank and power.
We will omit the Lordships and Graces with which these gentlemen, interlarded their conversation. Lordships and Graces and Eminences, are matters with which we simple folks of the American Union, are but poorly acquainted.
"You are last from Havana?" asked the Prelate.
"Yes," answered the Legate: "and a month ago I was in the city of Mexico; two months since in California, at the mission of San Luis."
"And the Fathers are likely to regain possession of the deserted mission? You intimated so much in the letter which you were kind enough to write me from Havana."
"They are likely to regain possession," said the Legate.