and
attention, and that men should look after and replenish his canoe which
was now tied in the bayou. After all these orders were given, Alvarez sat
in the great room of Beaulieu and smoked the cigarro of his time.

There was a bitter drop in the well of his satisfaction. The coming of the
priest had been unforeseen and unfortunate. He knew Father Montigny, and
Father Montigny knew him. Now how much did Father Montigny know of his
plans? That was the important question.

While he was yet speaking, Father Montigny, whom a very little of rest and
food always sufficed, entered the room, his manner full of austerity.
Francisco Alvarez rose, all blandness and courtesy.

"Be seated, Father," he said. "It is a poor place that we have here, but
we give you of our best. Who would deserve it more than you, a man of such
long travels and such great hardships in the holiest of all causes?"

The face of the priest did not relax. He sat down upon one of the cane
chairs and gazed sternly at Alvarez. Truly, it is a terrible thing to meet
the accusing gaze of a man who fears neither torture, nor death, nor the
world to come! The accusation is likely to be true. Alvarez looked away.
Twice within one day he who, with reason, thought himself so courageous
had been forced to yield to the gaze of another, and his heart was full of
angry rebellion. But he knew that knowledge and power dwelt under the
simple black robe of this man.

"It seems," said Father Montigny, and there was a slight touch of irony in
his tone, "that I came at the right moment."

Francisco Alvarez compelled his face to smile, though his heart was
raging.

"I have already apologized, Father Montigny," he said, "for what I was
about to do. And yet the phrase 'about to do' is wrong. Even if you had
not come I should have repented of myself, and sent away the irons. I can
repeat, too, in my defense that I was provoked beyond endurance by this
youth's insolence."

His tone was silky, light, indolent, as if he would dismiss a trifle about
which too much had been said already. It might have been convincing to any
other man, but he felt the stern, reproving gaze of Father Montigny still
fixed upon him.

"And what of the ring and the professional swordsman?" said the priest.
"Are you to turn a youth to a gladiator, even as the blessed martyrs were
given to the lions and tigers by the Roman pagans! What of that, Francisco
Alvarez? Are such deeds to be done, here, in our