"Monks and friars are wastrels and loafers," he began, "but the men who're turning them out are ten times worse. Listen to me. I'll tell your Worships what everybody was talking about in Lisbon the day before yesterday, when I came away." Through the waiter setting down the newcomers' plates with a noisy rattle, Antonio lost most of the next sentence: but, with a start of surprise, he caught the name of his own abbey. "It's only a little abbey," continued the man from Lisbon, "and nobody guessed it was so rich. But it seems the monks had got stuff worth a hundred thousand pounds. They had dozens of golden cups all covered over with diamonds as big as pigeons' eggs, and a lot of pictures by the famous Italian painter Raphael. "Your Worships have heard of our new Viscount, the Viscount of Ponte Quebrada. He comes from Amsterdam, or London, or Frankfort--it doesn't matter which. He's a Jew, or an atheist, or a Protestant--it's all the same thing. The Government has made him a Viscount because he found money last year. For every thirty English pounds he brought, Portugal has to pay back a hundred, and the interest as well. So he's been made a Viscount." "We're not Miguelistas here," growled one of the company. But the Lisbon man ignored him and went on: "Somehow the Viscount of Ponte Quebrada got wind of the diamond cups. He went off himself with the troopers, so that he could lay hold of them for himself. I know exactly what happened. My brother employs a man whose cousin was one of the soldiers. When the Viscount demanded possession of the monastery, the monks insisted that he should give receipts for all the pictures and cups. There was a terrible quarrel. Then the Viscount tried to steal the things in the night. But he was caught. The next morning it turned out that the Prior was really a general, and that he had been second in command to the famous Wellington. He threw off his monk's dress before all the soldiers and stood up in full uniform, and offered to fight the Viscount either with swords or pistols. Then the Viscount signed the receipts. "As soon as the monks had passed out of the gates, the Abbot, who was nearly a hundred years old, dropped down dead from the excitement. When they buried him, at a place called Navares, there was nearly a riot against the Government." "I tell you, we are not against the Government here," gruffed out the Oporto man with increasing resentment. But the Lisbon man ignored him again. "The Viscount sent all the soldiers to this place Navares, to put the riot down. Then he pretended to be afraid that the Prior was going to make a dash back for the diamond cups: so he pretended to bury them in the woods, and sent an express to the Government to come with half a regiment and carry the stuff safely to Lisbon. The Government sent fifty more soldiers: but, when the Viscount took them to the place in the woods, all they found was an empty hole."