When he recognized Antonio a flash of joy lit up the youth's pale blue eyes. But, instead of greeting his old cicerone simply and straightforwardly, he jumped down from his horse and began to declaim some prepared rigmarole. "Zounds! By'r Lady!" he cried, "whom have we here? Marry, by my halidom, I trow it is the goodly knight Oliveira da Rocha himself." "Why not speak English?" asked Antonio, wringing the young man's hand. "English?" he retorted. "If you're disrespectful, Senhor da Rocha, I'll begin speaking Portuguese." "_Pode_," said the monk. Which meant "he may." Young Crowberry fumbled in his pockets and fished up a manuscript phrase-book which had been compiled for him, he pretended, by some pitiful friend in Oporto. After turning the pages this way and that, he asked: "_Está prompto o almoço?_" Young Crowberry meant "Is breakfast ready?" "Not quite," said Antonio. "_O que tem Fossa Mercê_: What has your Worship got?" "Brown bread, green figs, white cheese, purple grapes, red wine, and black coffee." "_De-me alguma bebida_: Give me something to drink." "I don't understand," said Antonio, shaking his head. José, hearing voices, thrust his shaggy face through the window and glared at young Crowberry, with his mouth almost as wide open as his eyes. "This," said Antonio, "is José Ribeiro, the _régisseur_ of the Château da Rocha. He knows more about sea-sand wine than any other man north of Collares." And, turning to José, he explained in Portuguese: "You have heard me speak of the English Senhor Crowberry. This is his son. Go and kill a chicken--the fat brown one." When José had departed on his murderous errand, Antonio brought their guest a large glass of green wine. Young Crowberry drank it with a wry face; but he admitted that it acted like a charm in quenching his thirst. They walked out into the vineyards. "And now, Senhor Eduardo, explain yourself," demanded the monk. "I came on ahead--last night," said Senhor Eduardo. "Ahead of whom?" "Of the others." By this time Antonio was getting irritated by young Crowberry's tiresome smartness; and he was on the point of asking him, rather sharply, not to be a young ass. But he restrained himself and waited. At last young Crowberry said: "They are in Coimbra. Dirty hole. They're following next week. I came on ahead to chase out the rats and beetles." "We saw a light last night in the guest-house window," said Antonio. "Do you mean to tell me you opened the place in the dark, and slept there by yourself?" "Certainly. What of it?" "Simply this. My dear Eduardo, you are not half such a muff as you try to look, and not one tenth such a ne'er-do-well. But about these 'others.' Who are they? Why are they coming here? How long will they stay?" "Firstly," replied Edward Crowberry, "there's the guv'nor. Secondly and thirdly, there's Sir Percy and his daughter. Fourthly, there's Mrs. Baxter. Fifthly and sixthly and all-the-restly, there's the servants."