"No," the monk answered with a smile, "my tastes are not warlike enough for that; but if I may judge from the preparations I see you making, this will be a serious expedition."
"It will," the old man answered, pensively.
"I have noticed that generally, during these expeditions, the wounded are left without assistance. I should like to accompany the Indians, in order to attend to their wounds, and console those whose hurts are so serious that they cannot recover; still, if the request appear to you exorbitant, I will recall it, though I shall do so reluctantly."
The old gentleman gazed at the monk for a moment with an expression of admiration and tenderness impossible to describe.
"I grant your request, Padre," he at length said, affectionately pressing his hand. "Still, I am bound to make one remark."
"What is it?"
"You run a risk of falling into the hands of the Mexicans."
"Well, what matter? Can they regard it as a crime if I perform on the battlefield the duties which my religion imposes on me?"
"Who knows? Perhaps they will regard you as a rebel."
"And in that case—"