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“You ought not to work.”

“But I’m hungry.”

“Then beg.”

Wherefore sometimes he did beg.

Don Sergio, utterly astounded before this avalanche of words, made no attempt to interrupt Peñalar. The latter paused, smiled unctuously, noted that the force of habit had carried him on to his everlasting theme of the reason for his sponging on folks, and realizing that his eloquence was leading him astray, lowered his voice, continuing in a confidential tone:

“This our life is, despite all its drawbacks, so attractive,—is it not so, Don Sergio?—that one cannot leave it with indifference. And yet I believe that death is liberation. Yes, I believe in the immortality of the soul, in the absolute dominion of spirit over matter. Not so in previous years. No, I must confess,” and he smiled more benignly than ever, “I was formerly a pantheist, and I still preserve, from that period, perhaps, an enthusiasm for nature. Ah, the country! The country is my delight! Many a time I recall those verses of the Mantuan: