saw him come up early, armed with a light gun. The French monk had
preceded him, and had whispered in my ear the danger that threatened my
companion. "Join with me," he said, "to turn the young Aragonian monk
from his murderous project." I need scarcely say that I employed myself
with ardour in this negotiation, in which I had the happiness to
succeed. There were here, as must be seen, the materials for a chief of
_guerilleros_. I should be much astonished if my young monk did not play
his part in the war of independence.

The anecdote which I am about to relate will amply prove that religion
was, with the Carthusian monks of the _Desierto de las Palmas_, not the
consequence of elevated sentiments, but a mere compound of superstitious
practices.

The scene with the gun, always present to my mind, seemed to make it
clear to me that the Aragon monk, if actuated by his passions, would be
capable of the most criminal actions. Hence, I had a very disagreeable
impression when one Sunday, having come down to hear mass, I met this
monk, who, without saying a word, conducted me by a series of dark
corridors into a chapel where the daylight penetrated only by a very
small window. There I found Father Trivulce, who prepared himself to say
mass for me alone. The young monk assisted. All at once, an instant
before the consecration, Father Trivulce, turning towards me, said these
exact words: "We have permission to say mass with white wine; we
therefore make use of that which we gather from our own vines: this wine
is very good. Ask the prior to let you taste it, when on leaving this
you go to breakfast with him. For the rest, you can assure yourself this
instant of the truth of what I say to you." And he presented me the
goblet to drink from. I resisted strongly, not only because I considered
it indecent to give this invitation in the middle of the mass, but