"Gaspacho—only a dish of gaspacho; 'tis all I have to offer you, gracios senores."
"Soupe maigre, by the Lord! Bah! senor Espagnol; 'tis food only for hogs or yourselves, not for a cuirassier of France."
"'Tis all that France and misfortune enable me to offer. They have brought me low enough," replied the curate meekly, while he appeared astounded by the boisterous behaviour of the dragoon, for whom Ronald (though secretly angry at his conduct) endeavoured to apologize, and to re-assure their kind host. "But something else may be added to the gaspacho, senores, and you will find the latter very good; my grand-daughter is the best preparer of it in the village."
"Diable! your grand-daughter? what a merry monk you have been in your young days. But how came you, senor curé, to have a family?"
"I was married before I took upon me the scapulary and girdle,—the badges of my holy order," replied the other, while the colour came and went in his faded cheek, and he regarded the Frenchman with a fixed look of indignation, which was replied to by a contemptuous laugh.
"A jolly monk! Vive la joie! And is your grand-daughter young and pretty? I hope so, as I feel ennui creeping over me in this dull dungeon. But be not angry, reverend curé. Let us have but a measure of decent wine to wash down this same gaspacho, and we shall manage pretty well."
"If monsieur knew that I was his countryman," said the curate gently, "he might perhaps treat my grey hairs less insultingly."
"Not a whit, monsieur renegade!" cried the cuirassier fiercely. "What! you are some base emigrant, I suppose. They are ever the bitterest enemies to the great Napoleon, to his faithful soldiers, and to la belle France."
"'Tis false, rude soldier!" said the old man, his faded eye kindling up. "We are the only true friends to beautiful France, and the outraged house of Bourbon."
"Beelzebub strangle the Bourbons! Get us our supper, and call a halt to your chattering. Also, take care how you give me the lie, old gentleman, or I swear I will dash—"