He lifted his eyes to the starry sky. “The orbs are shining
excessively,” he said; then added, “To the greater glory of God. One is
never tired of contemplating this sublime spectacle.”
“How is Don Carlos, your reverence?” I asked.
“My beloved penitent sleeps,” he answered, peering at me benevolently;
“he reposes. Do you know, young _caballero_, that I have been a prisoner
of war in your country, and am acquainted with Londres? I was chaplain
of the ship _San José_ at the battle of Trafalgar. On my soul, it is,
indeed, a blessed, fertile country, full of beauty and of well-disposed
hearts. I have never failed since to say every day an especial prayer
for its return to our holy mother, the Church. Because I love it.”
I said nothing to this, only bowing; and he laid a short, thick hand on
my shoulder.
“May your coming amongst us, my son, bring calmness to a Christian soul
too much troubled with the affairs of this world.” He sighed, nodded to
me with a friendly, sad smile, and began to mutter his prayers as he
went.