"Trust me, mon maitre," said Antonio to me, in French, "those two
fellows are Carlist priests, and are awaiting the arrival of the
Pretender. Les imbeciles!"
We conducted our horses to the stable, to which we were shown by
the woman of the house. "Who are those men?" said I to her.
"The eldest is head curate to our pueblo," said she; "the other is
brother to my husband. Pobrecito! he was a friar in our convent
before it was shut up and the brethren driven forth."
We returned to the door. "I suppose, gentlemen," said the curate,
"that you are Catalans. Do you bring any news from that kingdom?"
"Why do you suppose we are Catalans?" I demanded.
"Because I heard you this moment conversing in that language."
"I bring no news from Catalonia," said I. "I believe, however,
that the greater part of that principality is in the hands of the
Carlists."
"Ahem, brother Pedro! This gentleman says that the greater part of
Catalonia is in the hands of the royalists. Pray, sir, where may
Don Carlos be at present with his army?"
"He may be coming down the road this moment," said I, "for what I
know;" and, stepping out, I looked up the way.
