"That's where your soft-heartedness leads you," said I. "You have doubtless flung it away in charity."
"Mon cher (these were the only French words that Fray Serapio knew, and he made use of them on all occasions), know then, once for all, that I don't deserve your praises. Nature cut me out for a soldier, but conventionality made me a monk."
The Franciscan confessed, readily enough, that when he was on the point of buying a new frock, an inconceivable distraction made him spend the money on other things quite useless for a man, and, above all, for a monk; things which—(Fray Serapio whispered the remainder in my ear). The skin of Valdepeñas being now half empty, we resumed our journey. Large drops of rain began to fall; the storm was going to burst over us in all its fury. To push on was our only resource. Stimulated by a secret instinct, our horses increased their pace. Sometimes they shyed or stopped suddenly, terrified at the fantastic forms of some projecting root, or the sudden growl of the thunder; but these annoyances were only temporary, and we flew over the ground with inconceivable swiftness. We descried at last, in a plain, a little Indian village, still more than a league in advance. We covered this league in a few minutes, and entered the village, saluted by a legion of hungry dogs, who snarled and bit at our horses' heels. Our arrival set every one in motion. Copper-colored faces appeared and disappeared at the doors of the huts. We were asking ourselves, in no small consternation, if we must give up all hopes of finding a shelter in a place where every door seemed to be shut against us, when Fray Serapio, catching an Indian by his long hair, forced him to lead us to a house that did duty for an inn.
