* * *

With Rollo now for a time the tale runs more briskly. He set off for the
_venta_, where he found Etienne and John Mortimer sitting at meat.
Etienne was breaking his fast sparely upon a cup of chocolate and a
glass of water, while John Mortimer had by hook or crook evolved
something resembling a frying-pan, in which he had achieved the cooking
of some bacon and eggs together with a couple of mutton chops. He was
browning some bread before the fire to serve for English toast as Rollo
entered, looking as fresh as if he had been newly roused from a twelve
hour's sleep.

"Good morning, friends of mine," he cried; "you are in excellent case, I
see. John, I have made arrangements for you to go and visit some
vineyards to-day. Old Gaspar will guide you with his gun over his
valiant shoulder. You can pick up points about wine-buying, without
doubt. As to you, Etienne, _mon vieux_, I have found your Concha, and I
am going to see her myself in half an hour. Shall I give her your love?"

"What!" cried Saint Pierre; "you jest. It cannot be my cruel, cruel
little Conchita, she who fled from me and would not take the smallest
notice of all my letters and messages? Where is she?"

"She is at the nunnery of the Sisters of Mercy outside the village.
Poor Etienne! I am indeed sorry for you. With your religious views, it
will be impossible for you to make love to a nun!"

"Would I not?" cried Etienne, eagerly; "_mon Dieu_, only procure me a
chance, and I will let you see! But a nunnery is a hard nut to crack.
How do you propose to manage it?"

"I intend to make friends with the Lady Superior," said Rollo,
confidently.

"You have a letter of introduction to her, doubtless?" said Etienne.

"I do not at present even know her name; but all in good time!" said the
youth, coolly.

"For stark assurance commend me to a Scot," cried Etienne, with
enthusiasm. "You take to adventure as if it were chess. We poor French
take the most ordinary affairs as if they were dram-drinking, and so are
old and _ennuyes_ at thirty."

"And the English?" asked Rollo.

"Oh," laughed Etienne, "the English take to adventure as our friend
there takes to his breakfast, and that perhaps is the best way of all."

He pointed with a smile to where, at the table's end, John Mortimer of
Chorley, having made all preparations with the utmost seriousness for
his repast, was on the point of turning on the operating mill. The cook
of the _ve