Then he skipped through the quadrangle back to his den.
This quadrangle was very interesting; large, quiet, and solidly built: an outer court to the holy of holies, which was the church itself. Under the mountain-side, its covered passages ever seemed in deep gloom and shadow; a death-in-life atmosphere hung about it. In days gone by it was one of the loveliest nooks in the world, for the ancient buildings were beautiful and refined. Gothic cloisters and Norman doorways mingled their outlines in close companionship without rivalry, and the beholder was charmed at finding himself in an element where nothing jarred.
All has disappeared to make way for the modern traveller, whose name is legion. Nothing remains but the one little Gothic fragment, with its pointed windows and slender shafts. A lady in a mantilla graced them as we stood looking at the Norman archway beyond: the more interesting of the turtle-doves who had travelled with us from Monistrol. Her mate was attending to the vulgar side of life, arranging a select repast with the restaurant manager at the farther end of the settlement. We saw him come out and advance towards her with that degree of fervour which generally marks the _lune de miel_. She, too, went to meet him half-way--and they disappeared out of our lives.
As we looked at the Norman doorway it was suddenly filled with the figure of a monk. Nothing could have been more appropriately romantic and picturesque. He was clothed not as a Jesuit, but in the far more becoming dress of a Franciscan. His cowl was thrown back, revealing a pale, refined face and well-formed head, on which the hair seemed to be arranged almost like a circlet of leaves--the crown of the poet. He stood still and motionless as though carved in stone. In his hand he held a breviary. A girdle was round his waist confining the long brown robe. As far as we could see, he appeared unmindful of his surroundings, lost in a dreamy gaze which penetrated beyond the skies. It was the attitude and expression of a visionary or mystic.
What was this monk in the strange garb? Who was he? What brought him apparently at home amidst the Jesuits, he who evidently belonged to another order? Had he thrown in his lot amongst them? Or did he live, a solitary being, in one of the surrounding hermitages?