I have said that Rodriguez seldom concerned himself with the past, but considered chiefly the future:  it was of the future that he was thinking now as he asked Morano this question: 

“Why did my worthy and entirely excellent host shut his door in my face?”

“Did he so?” said Morano.

“He then bolted it and found it necessary to put the chains back, doubtless for some good reason.”

“Yes,” said Morano thoughtfully, and looking at Rodriguez, “and so he might.  He must have liked you.”

Verily Rodriguez was just the young man to send out with a sword and a mandolin into the wide world, for he had much shrewd sense.  He never pressed a point, but when something had been said that might mean much he preferred to store it, as it were, in his mind and pass on to other things, somewhat as one might kill game and pass on and kill more and bring it all home, while a savage would cook the first kill where it fell and eat it on the spot.  Pardon me, reader, but at Morano’s remark you may perhaps have exclaimed, “That is not the way to treat one you like.”  Not so did Rodriguez.  His attention passed on to notice Morano’s rings which he wore in great profusion upon his little fingers; they were gold and of exquisite work and had once held precious stones, as large gaps testified; in these days they would have been priceless, but in an age when workers only worked at arts that they understood, and then worked for the joy of it, before the word artistic became ridiculous, exquisite work went without saying; and as the rings were slender they were of little value.  Rodriguez made no comment upon the rings; it was enough for him to have noticed them.  He merely noted that they were not ladies’ rings, for no lady’s ring would have fitted on to any one of those fingers:  the rings therefore of gallants:  and not given to Morano by their owners, for whoever wore precious stone needed a ring to wear it in, and rings did not wear out like hose, which a gallant might give to a servant.  Nor, thought he, had Morano stolen them, for whoever stole them would keep them whole, or part with them whole and get a better price.  Besides Morano had an honest face, or a face at least that seemed honest in such an inn:  and while these thoughts were passing through his mind Morano spoke again:  “Good hams,” said Morano.  He had already eaten one and was starting upon the next.  Perhaps he spoke out of gratitude for the honour and physical advantage of being permitted to sit there and eat those hams, perhaps tentatively, to find out whether he might consume the second, perhaps merely to start a conversation, being attracted by the honest looks of Rodriguez.

“You are hungry,” said Rodriguez.

“Praise God I am always hungry,” answered Morano.  “If I were not hungry I should starve.”

“Is it so?” said Rodriguez.

“You see,” said Morano, “the manner of it is this:  my master gives me no food, and it is only when I am hungry that I dare to rob him by breaking in, as you saw me, upon his viands; were I not hungry I should not dare to do so, and so ...”  He made a sad and expressive movement with both his hands suggestive of autumn leaves blown hence to die.