The Spanish boat, a large one propelled by the vigorous sweep of twelve oars, was already a hundred yards above, swiftly stemming the current.

From their gestures I judged the debate yet raged between the gray-robe crouched in the stern, and the big, burly fellow, resplendent in gold lace, standing up and urging his oarsmen to greater exertion.

Within ten minutes they rounded the upper point, and when they again appeared within vision, the boat was a mere dot floating in the midst of the golden sunshine, where the setting sun gave a good-night kiss to the vast, sombre river.
De Noyan's boyish face was aglow with unconcealed amusement as I turned toward him.
"Well, Benteen," he asked, twirling his moustache, and staring after them, "what was it the Dons said?
_Peste_! I could not make out a word of their lingo, except when the fellows swore." I repeated to him the conversation, and he burst into a hearty laugh.
"Indeed, a sweet-scented Frenchman, that Capuchin priest," he said carelessly.

"I wonder what has so set the drunken fool against me ?" "It is not you, Chevalier," I acknowledged, feeling a touch of his spirit; "it is rather that lad who landed so heavily behind his ear last night, and who ran such a merry masquerade in monk's robe as never Spanish war-ship saw before.

I warrant it is I the holy father seeks so savagely.