One day, after a long and fatiguing ride, he arrived, about two in the afternoon, in a very ravenous state, at a convent or parsonage. On ascending the stairs of the convento, the first thing which met the eyes of the hungry traveller was a table neatly arranged for the padre's dinner, who, he was informed by the servants, would be back in about an hour to dine. An hour still--why it seemed to be a century since he had broken his fast; however, he waited for what appeared to a hungry man to be a long time, but in reality was probably ten minutes, when, losing all patience at the non-appearance of the priest, whose house he had so coolly taken possession of, he told the boys to put something to eat on the table, and they, apparently mistaking his meaning, in a trice served up the good priest's half-cooked dinner, which, without the delay of asking any questions, he proceeded to devour. In a very short space of time he had cleared away the best part of it, and was beginning to relax in his exertions, as the good effects of a hearty meal began to mollify his craving stomach, in fact he was just beginning to attack the last relic of a fat capon, which formed the main battle of the dishes set out before him, when a heavy footstep was heard on the stairs, and in another instant the gaunt figure of the priest himself stood before the empty plates on the dinner table, and the unknown and unexpected guest, whose jaws were at the moment occupied in masticating the last morsel of the fat fowl, which the father had ordered for himself, and looking forward to it had caused him to take a lengthened promenade, in order to promote appetite. Imagine the scene--but whether the good padre's momentary wrath, and then utter astonishment and indignation, or the guest's embarrassment, were greatest--or the most ludicrous, it would be hard to determine. For some time they merely looked at each other, without speaking--the priest, probably, because he could not articulate--and his guest, perhaps, because his mouth was full--till the absurdity of the whole affair apparently striking them both at once, they mutually broke out into laughter, the violence of which threatened to convulse them. From this, however, the padre was the first to recover, when the intruder, mastering his muscles, regained his countenance so far as to be able to mutter something in the shape of an apology, in which, probably, the word "starvation" was the only one intelligible; after it had been good-humouredly received, and the priest had welcomed the strange guest, the Archbishop's letter was produced as his credentials, but not till then. And afterwards they passed the evening together in the old convento, which, as the evening advanced, rang to many a merry laugh and jest about the affair in which both had figured so awkwardly.