"Ah—I thought so."
"Curse his clever eyes!" thought Pedro; "there is no concealing a sailor's hands."
Ere this, he had discovered a necessity for concealing this circumstance, which had always excited suspicions of his assumed character, for his hands were, of course, browned by tar and exposure, and hardened by tallying on to ropes, cables, and capstan-bars. He resolved to invest in a box of kid gloves forthwith, and to account for his nautical bearing, said:
"I am a lieutenant in the navy of the Southern States, on parole not to serve during the war against the North. I belonged to that famous ship, the Florida."
Don Salvador and the two padres bowed again, while Don Perez, a pale, but rather handsome young man, on whom Pedro's sharp eye turned from time to time, stared before him straight at his wine-glass, and looked, if possible, more discontented than ever.
"Jealous already, my old friend of the Matriz Church!—ho! ho!" thought Pedro.
"As your name is Florez," said the Padre Ugarte, "may I inquire whether you are any relation of Don Florez de——?"
Here the priest named a famous Spanish grandee. On which the adventurous Pedro promptly replied, while holding his glass to the liveried and aiguiletted servant, to be filled with hock, iced and sparkling, for the sixth time:
"I am no relation whatever, I believe—only a namesake."
"Indeed!"