without paying attention to anybody, father dámaso went straight to the sick room and took hold of maria’s hand.

“maria!” said he, with indescribable tenderness, as tears dropped from his eyes. “maria, my child, you are not going to die!”

maria opened her eyes and looked at him with surprise.

none who knew the franciscan suspected that he ever had such tender thoughts. no one ever supposed that a heart existed under that gross and rude aspect.

father dámaso could say no more and left the maiden, weeping like a child. he went out through the room at the head of the stairs, to give free vent to his grief, on maria clara’s balcony under her favorite vines.

“how he loves his god-daughter!” thought they all.

father salví witnessed the scene, immovable and silent, lightly biting his lips.

when his grief was somewhat soothed, father dámaso was introduced by do?a victorina to the young linares, who approached the friar with respect.

father dámaso gazed at him in silence from head to foot. he took the letter which the young man handed to him and read it apparently without understanding it, for he asked him:

“and who are you?”

“alfonso linares, the god-son of your brother-in-law,” stammered the young man.

father dámaso leaned back and examined the young man again. his face brightened up and he rose to his feet.

“and so you are the god-son of little charles!” he exclaimed. [162]“come here and let me embrace you. it was some days ago that i received your letter. so it is you! i did not know you—but that is easily explained, for you were not yet born when i left the country. i never knew you.”

and father dámaso stretched out his robust arms to the young man who blushed, either from shame or suffocation. father dámaso seemed to have completely forgotten his grief.

after the first moments of effusion had passed, and questions had been asked about carlicos, as he called little charles, father dámaso asked:

“well. what does carlicos want me to do for you?”

“i believe he says something in the letter,” stammered linares again.

“in the letter? let us see. ’tis so! and he wants me to get you a job and a wife! hm! employment—employment: that is easy. do you know how to read and write?”

“i have graduated in law from the central university.”

“carambas! so you are a pettifogger? well, you don’t look it—you look more like a young gentleman. but so much the better! but to find you a wife—hm! hm! a wife.”

“father, i am not in a hurry about it,” said linares, confused.

but father dámaso began to walk from one end of the room to the other, muttering: “a wife! a wife!”

his face by this time was no longer sad, nor was it cheerful. it expressed the greatest seriousness and he seemed to be meditating. father salví surveyed the scene from a distance.

“i did not believe that it could give me such pain,” murmured father dámaso in a mournful voice. “but of two evils the lesser.”

and raising his voice and approaching linares, he said:

“come here, my boy! we will speak with santiago.”

linares turned pale and allowed himself to be led along by the priest, who was deep in thought. [163]

then it was father salví’s turn to walk up and down the room and he did so, meditating, as was his custom.

a voice bidding him good morning stopped his monotonous tread. he raised his head and his eyes met lucas, who saluted him humbly.

“what do you want?” asked the eyes of the curate.

“father, i am the brother of the man who was killed on the day of the fiesta,” replied lucas, in a tearful tone.

father salví stepped back.

“and what of it?” he muttered, in an unintelligible voice.

lucas made an effort to weep, and dried his eyes with his handkerchief.

“father,” said he, crying, “i have been to crisostomo’s house to ask him for indemnity. at first, he received me with kicks, saying that he would not pay anything, since he had run the risk of being killed through the fault of my dear, unfortunate brother. yesterday, i went to talk with him again, but he had already left for manila, leaving me for charity’s sake five hundred pesos for my poor brother—five hundred pesos—ah! father.”

the curate listened to the first part of his story with surprise and attention, but slowly there appeared on his lips a smile—a smile of such contempt and sarcasm at the comedy that was being played, that if lucas had seen it he would have fled in all haste.

“and what do you want now?” he asked, turning his back to him.

“alas! father, for love of god tell me what i ought to do. father, you have always given good advice.”

“who has told you that? you do not live here.”

“but the whole province knows you, father!”

father salví went up to him with his eyes full of anger and, motioning to the street, said to the frightened lucas:

“go to your house and give thanks to don crisostomo that he has not sent you to jail. get away from here.”

forgetting his r?le, lucas muttered:

“well, i thought——” [164]

“out of here!” cried father salví, in a nervous tone.

“i want to see father dámaso.”

“father dámaso is busy. out of here!” ordered the curate, in an imperative tone, again.

lucas went down the stairs murmuring: “he is another. how poorly he pays! he who pays better....”

the voice of the curate had reached the ears of all in the house, even father dámaso, captain tiago and linares.

“an insolent beggar who came to ask alms and doesn’t want to work,” said father salví, taking his hat and cane and starting toward the convent.