“Not I! I never offended a pretty girl in my life. Hey, my bright Rosa?” said the guest, chucking her under the chin as she placed a dish of rice and stewed fowls on the table; but in return for the liberty, he received a sound box on the ear; and she tripped off, laughing, before he could catch her to renew the offence.
“Carramba! but your daughter does hit hard,” exclaimed the man; “though let us see if her cookery will make amends for her cruelty.”
As Rosa, having placed another dish on the table, was again hastening away, she encountered from a personage who just then entered the room a fresh attack of the same sort, but, it must be confessed, with scarce the same obduracy; for “Oh, Senhor Frade!” and a loud giggle, was the only answer she gave to the salute, which sounded through the apartment.
“Pax vobiscum!” exclaimed the person who had committed this atrocity, as he advanced out of the obscurity towards the group among whom he espied the landlord, well knowing that there would the best cheer be found. As the light fell on him, he exhibited a broad, sinewy figure; and throwing back his cowl, his shorn crown and coarse brown robes, with satchel by his side, proclaimed him to belong to the mendicant order of the Capuchins, his well-filled cheeks showing how assiduously he pursued his avocation. His bullet-shaped head was encircled by a rim of coarse red hair, to which colour his features assimilated; a broad snubby nose, and a pair of blear, though keen, roving eyes, made up the man. He was welcomed by all the party, with whom he appeared to be on the most intimate terms.
“Now, for the love of the saints, my pretty Rosa,” he exclaimed, as he took his seat at the post of honour near the master, “bring me something to eat, for I am almost dead with hunger and thirst;—anything will serve; a stewed pullet or so, or some broiled pork and lemon; you know that I am not particular as to the things of the appetite;—and hark you, my Rosa dear, if you can find the remains of a bottle or so of old wine, bring it, in the name of the Virgin; for I am thirsty and tired.”
The holy Father’s request was not disregarded, and he was soon busily employed in discussing the viands set before him, failing not to do ample justice to Rosa’s cookery, during which time he would not answer a word to the numerous questions put to him; but, having finished, and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his gown, giving a last pull at his bottle of wine, his tongue was loosened, and all the party bent their heads forward to listen to what he had to communicate; the subject of the conversation being such as to oblige them to speak in tones not loud enough to be heard beyond their immediate circle.
“What news do you bring us, Senhor Padre?” asked one of those who had lost at cards. “Have we a chance of picking up a little booty? for we are very low in the world.”
“Ah, my son, always thinking of lucre and worldly gain,” answered the Friar, laughing, “but I am in an amiable humour, and will not tantalise you long.”
“Well, Padre, no delay; out with your news,” exclaimed several of the party, bending still closer round him, with eager expression of countenance.
“Know then, my sons, that there is a chance of some work to-morrow morning which may fill our empty pockets; but recollect, we all share alike; I am not to employ my wits, and to wear myself into a phantom to gain all the information, and then to allow my convent to be deprived of the just profits.”