A portentous gravity invested him this morning as he bowed with profound deference first to the adjutant and then to the secretary.
"Your Excellencies," he said--he spoke an English that was smooth and fluent for all its foreign accent "Your Excellencies, this is a terrible affair." "To what affair will your Excellency be alluding ?" wondered O'Moy.
"Have you not received news of what has happened at Tavora?
Of the violation of a convent by a party of British soldiers?
Of the fight that took place between these soldiers and the peasants who went to succour the nuns ?" "Oh, and is that all ?" said O'Moy.

"For a moment I imagined your Excellency referred to other matters.

I have news of more terrible affairs than the convent business with which to entertain you this morning." "That, if you will pardon me, Sir Terence, is quite impossible." "You may think so.

But you shall judge, bedad.

A chair, Dom Miguel." The Secretary of State sat down, crossed his knees and placed his hat in his lap.