Estella closed the door.
‘You can come with us?’ said the General to Concha, half command, half interrogation.
‘If you wish it.’
‘You may be wanted. I have a plan—a little plan,’ and he gave a short laugh. ‘It may succeed.’
He went to a side table, where some cold meats still stood, and, taking up a small chicken daintily with a fork, he folded it in a napkin.
‘It will be Saturday,’ he said simply, ‘before we have reached our journey’s end, and you will be hungry. Have you a pocket?’
‘Has a priest a pocket?’ asked Concha, with a grim humour, and he slipped the provisions into the folds of his cassock. He was still eating a biscuit hurriedly.
‘I believe you have no money?’ said the General suddenly.
‘I have only enough,’ admitted the old man, ‘to take me back to Ronda; whither, by the way, my duty calls me.’
‘I think not. Your Master can spare you for a while; my mistress cannot do without you.’