nta_, who had been much interested in John's culinary
operations, had come up to see how he would deal with the result when
completed.

John had brewed himself some tea from a small parcel he carried in his
saddle-bags. This, made in a coffee-pot, was arranged at a certain
distance from his dexter elbow. The bacon and eggs were on a platter
exactly in front, flanked on the left by the smoking mutton chops,
while the toast was stuck erect in an empty cruet-stand. In fact a
Chorley breakfast-table was reproduced as exactly as circumstances would
admit.

Then John Mortimer bent his head a moment over his plate, murmured
something in memory of his father, the Primitive Methodist, in lieu of a
blessing, said "Hem" in a loud gruff tone, hitched his chair forward a
little, squared his shoulders, and fell to.

"That is why we French have no colonies!" said Etienne, admiringly. "In
this little Spanish village he has found all the materials of an English
breakfast."

"And that is why _I_ shall never make any money," said Rollo, and
proceeded to break his fast on a couple of eggs dropped into white wine,
before setting out for the convent.

"Etienne," said Rollo, suddenly checking his glass in mid-air as an idea
occurred to him, "lend me that ring of your sainted uncle's, the one
with the picture of Don Carlos."

The young Frenchman indolently drew it from his hand, laid it on the
polished marble top of the table, and with his forefinger flipped it
across to Rollo.

"Who is the girl?" he said simply.

But Rollo with equal simplicity ignored his question, and did not even
pause to thank him for the loan. It was a way these young men had with
one another. Like the early Christians, they had all things in common.
It was their single point of resemblance to the primitive Church.

"What shall I say to your Concha--that is, if I chance to see her?" said
Rollo, as he brushed his clothes and saw to the neatness of his neck
ribbon.

Etienne held down his head.

"Indeed," he said a little reluctantly, "I am not so anxious that you
should say anything at all about me. The little minx did not treat me so
very well when I came this way on my last visit to my uncle. And to tell
the truth, there is an exceedingly pretty girl living only three doors
from the _venta_. I have already spoken to her, and she has smiled at me
thrice over the fence."

"Take my advice, and stick to the little Andaluse," said Rollo,
laughing. "They do no