“Leave it to me to find out that,” said the curate; “though there is no reason for supposing, señor captain, that you will not be kindly received, because the worth and wisdom that your brother’s bearing shows him to possess do not make it likely that he will prove haughty or insensible, or that he will not know how to estimate the accidents of fortune at their proper value.”
“Still,” said the captain, “I would not make myself known abruptly, but in some indirect way.”
“I have told you already,” said the curate, “that I will manage it in a way to satisfy us all.”
By this time supper was ready, and they all took their seats at the table, except the captive, and the ladies, who supped by themselves in their own room. In the middle of supper the curate said:
“I had a comrade of your worship’s name, Señor Judge, in Constantinople, where I was a captive for several years, and that same comrade was one of the stoutest soldiers and captains in the whole Spanish infantry; but he had as large a share of misfortune as he had of gallantry and courage.”
“And how was the captain called, señor?” asked the Judge.
“He was called Ruy Pérez de Viedma,” replied the curate, “and he was born in a village in the mountains of León; and he mentioned a circumstance connected with his father and his brothers which, had it not been told me by so truthful a man as he was, I should have set down as one of those fables the old women tell over the fire in winter; for he said his father had divided his property among his three sons and had addressed words of advice to them sounder than any of Cato’s. But I can say this much, that the choice he made of going to the wars was attended with such success, that by his gallant conduct and courage, and without