e diffused; and not only was
everything he owned mine from that moment forth, but, he ardently hoped
he might have a long line of grandchildren and great-grandchildren to be
my slaves in succeeding generations.

While the worthy man poured forth these "truths" in all the flourish
of his purest Castilian, and while I listened to them with the
condescending urbanity with which a sovereign may be presumed to hear
the strains of some national melody in their praise, as pleasant, though
somewhat stale, another individual was added to the group, whose
cunning features evinced nothing either of the host's reverence or of
my grandeur. This was Fra Miguel, the Friar, who, in a costume of
extraordinary simplicity, stood staring fixedly at me.

"Il Conde de Cregauo!" repeated Don Estaban. "I have surely heard the
name before. Your highness is doubtless a grandee of Spain?"

"Of the first class!" said I, with a slight cough; for the confounded
Friar never took his eyes off me.

"And we have met before, Senhor Conde," said he, with a most equivocal
stress upon the last words. "How pleasant for me to thank the Conde for
what I believed I owed to the mere wayfarer." These words he uttered in
a whisper close to my own ear.

"Better that, than ungratefully desert a benefactor!" said I, in the
same low tone; then, turning to Don Estaban, who stood amazed at our
dramatic asides, I told him pretty much what I had already related to
the banker at Guajuaqualla; only adding that during an excursion which
it was my caprice to make alone and unaccompanied, I had been able
to render a slight service to his fair daughter, Donna Maria de Los
Dolores, and that I could not pass the neighborhood without inquiring
after her health, and craving permission to kiss her hand.

"Is this the Senhor Cregan of the 'Rio del Crocodielo '?" cried Don
Estaban, in rapture.

"The same whom we left in safe keeping with our Brothers of Mercy, at
Bexar!" exclaimed the Friar, in affected amazement.

"The very same, Fra Miguel, whom you humanely consigned to the Lazaretto
of Bexar,--an establishment which has as little relation to 'mercy' as
need be; the same who, having resumed the rank and station that belong
to him, can afford to forget your cold-hearted desertion."

"San Joachim of Ulloa knows if I did not pay for masses for your soul's
repose!" exclaimed he.

"A very little care of me in this world," said I, "had been to the full
as agreeable as all you