The monk fell on his knees and raised his eyes to Heaven. His face had assumed an earthy tint, a cold perspiration beaded on his temples, and his hair stood on end. The suffering he experienced must be horrible, for his chest heaved violently, although his parched lips remained dumb.
The Count watched him anxiously.
"Will you speak now, monk?" he said to him in a hollow voice.
Fray Arsenio turned toward him a face whose features were distorted by pain, and gave him a look full of ineffable gentleness.
"I thank you, my lord," he said, "for having taught me that pain does not exist for a man whose faith is lively."
"My curses on you, wretch!" the Count exclaimed, as he hurled him down with a blow on the chest. "To horse, señores, to horse, so that we may reach the hatto before sunrise."
The cavaliers remounted, and went off at full speed, leaving, without a glance of compassion, the poor monk, who, vanquished by pain, had rolled fainting on the ground.