“The same, my son,” rejoined the other, with an air of mock gravity.
At which the young Irishman broke out into a loud guffaw, saying:—
“Well, you’re the last man I should ever have supposed to be a monk!”
He recalled some strong denunciations of the Holy Brethren he had heard pass the lips of his late fellow-prisoner.
“Ah! Señor Don Florencio, in this our world of Mexico we are called upon to play many parts, and make out home in many places. Yesterday, you knew me as a prisoner, like yourself in a loathsome gaol; to-day, you see me in a monastery. And no common monk, but an Abbot, for know, amijo mio, that I am the head of this establishment. But come! As your host I am not now playing the part I should. You must be half famished; besides, your toilet needs attending to. For the first, breakfast will be ready by the time you have looked to the last. Here, Gregorio!” this was a call to the mayor-domo outside, who instantly after appeared at the door. “Conduct this gentleman to the lavatory, and assist him in making his ablutions.” Then again to Kearney: “If I mistake not, you will find a clean shirt there, with some other changes of raiment. And may I ask you to be expeditious? It has got to be rather a late hour for breakfast, and the Holy Brethren will be getting a little impatient for it. But, no doubt, your appetite will prompt you. Hasta Luega!”
With which salutation—the Mexican custom at parting for only a short while—he passed out of the room, leaving his guest to be looked after by Gregorio.
Surrendering himself to the mayor-domo, Kearney was conducted to an outer room, in which he found a washstand and dressing-table, with towel and other toilet articles—all, however, of the commonest kind. Even so, they were luxuries that had been long denied him—especially the water, a constant stream of which ran into a stone basin from some pure mountain spring.
And, sure enough, the clean shirt was there, with a full suit of clothes; velveteen jacket, calzoneras calzoncillas, scarf of China crape—in short, the complete costume of a ranchero. A man of medium size, they fitted him nicely; and arrayed in them he made a very handsome appearance.
“Now, your honour,” said the individual in charge of him, “allow me to show you the Refectory.”
Another turn along the main passage brought them to the door, from which issued a buzz of voices. His host had prepared him to expect company, and on stepping inside this door he saw it in the shape of some twenty-five or thirty men, all in the garb of monks of the same order as Rivas himself.