I. “Of course, not altogether. Your own property—your own effects——”
He. “I have no property; I have no effects; I have nothing. It is a rule of my order. I am under a vow of poverty. No, no; my wish springs from a principle of honour.”
I. “Just what I should feel towards my own landlord. But you say it is not on your landlord’s account.”
He. “It is on account of the fraternity of which I am an unworthy member.”
I. “Oh, oh! then your fraternity have an interest in the premises?”
He. “Not exactly in the building itself, but in its contents. The fact is, our convent——but I forget. You, as a heret——pardon me; you, as an Englishman, can have no acquaintance with our regulations. I will just explain. Our poor indigent community has some trifling property in lands, principally vineyards. I am their factor. That house is one of our depôts.”
I. “Very good wine, too, the growth of your estates. Little did I imagine, while seated with you at table, or puffing a cigar, that we were sipping the property of the Church.”
He. “You may say smoking as well as sipping. The cigars also are the property of our humble fraternity.”
I. “Well, I like that idea of a vow of poverty amazingly. You don’t intend to convert me?”
He (benignantly). “One thing at a time. As to the wine we drink, you mistake, however, if you suppose that is the wine we grow. The wine grown on our lands is the ordinario sort—abundant, indeed, as to quantity, and in that respect valuable; but not of a sort fit to be drunk by my order. No, no; we exchange it for better. For example, what you have been drinking I trust you will admit is a good sound wine.”