the Brethren, so little in
keeping with the supposed gravity of the monastic character, when the
Abbot entering led him up to them, and gave him a general introduction.

"_Hermanos_!" he said, "let me present another of my comrades in
misfortune, the Senor Don Florencio Kearney--an _Irlandes_--who claims
the hospitality of the convent."

They all made bow, some pressing forward, and extending hands.

But there was no time for dallying over salutations. By this several
dishes had been passed through the hatch, and were steaming upon the
table. So the Abbot took seat at its head, Kearney beside him; while
the Texan was bestowed at its foot, alongside one who seemed to act as
vice-chairman.

If the table-cloth was not one of the finest damask, nor the ware
costliest china and cut glass, the repast was worthy of such. In all
the world there is no _cuisine_ superior to that of Mexico. By reason
of certain aboriginal viands, which figured on the table of that Aztec
sybarite, Montezuma, it beats the _cuisine_ of old Spain, on which that
of France is founded, and but an insipid imitation.

The monks of this mountain retreat evidently knew how to live, course
after course being passed through the hatch in a variety which seemed as
if it would never end. There were pucheros, guisados, tomales, and half
a score of other dishes Kearney had never before heard of, much less
tasted. No wonder at their dinner of the preceding day having left such
_debris_ for supper.

And the wines were in correspondence--in quality, profusion, everything.
To Kearney it recalled "Bolton Abbey in the olden time." Nor ever
could the monks of that ancient establishment on the Wharfe have drunk
better wines, or laughed louder while quaffing them, than they whose
hospitality he was receiving on the side of the Cerro Ajusco.

Some strange speech, however, he heard passing around him, little in
consonance with what might be supposed to proceed from the lips of
religious men. But, possibly, just such as came from those of the
Tintern and Bolton Brethren when around the refectory table. Not all of
it, though. If the talk was worldly, it savoured little of wickedness--
far less than that of the cowled fraternity of olden times, if
chronicles are to be trusted. And never in convent hall could have been
heard such toast as that with which the breakfast was brought to a
close, when Rivas, rising to his feet, goblet in hand, the others
standing u