"Caspita! Do you fancy we let her go so?" the monk asked, imperturbably.
The squatter looked at him in surprise—he no longer understood anything. Like all men of action, discussion was to him almost a matter of impossibility; especially with an adversary so crafty as the one he had before him. Deceived by the monk's coolness and the apparent frankness of his answers, he wished to make an end of it.
"Come," he said, "how did all this finish?"
"Thanks to an ally who came to your son's help, and to whom we were obliged to bow—"
"An ally! What man can be so bold as to dare—"
"Eh!" the monk sharply interrupted Red Cedar, "that man is a priest, to whom you have already bowed many a time."
"You are jesting, señor Padre," the squatter exclaimed, savagely.
"Not the least in the world. Had it been anyone else, I should have resisted; but I, too, belong to the Church; and, as Father Seraphin is my superior, I was forced to obey him."
"What!" the squatter said, with a groan, "Is he not dead?"
"It appears," the monk remarked, ironically, "as if those you kill are all in good state of health, Red Cedar."