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"Despite their piety, the reputation of those ladies cannot be very good, because there is a proverb, certainly not very gallant: 'Don't get either a wife or a mule at Cidones; neither a wife nor a mule nor a pig at Grinon.
"You can study these people, as an entomologist studies insects. Listen, it wouldn't do any harm if you took a walk to that town near here, named Cidones, to see if you can find out what sort of bird this Father Martin is." "All right." "I will do so." "Then, till tomorrow!" "You are going now?" "Yes." "Goodnight, then." Caesar left his room and marched off to sleep.
On reaching Cidones, one of the party advanced up the lane and saw two pairs of Civil Guards. They discussed what they had better do, and the majority were in favour of going into Moro's inn, which was at the entrance to the town, and waiting until night. They did go in there and told Moro what they had just done. The inn-keeper listened with simulated approval, and brought them wine.
The following day, very early in the morning, Alzugaray went to a livery-stable which they had directed him to at the hotel, and asked to hire a horse. They brought him a large, old one; he mounted, and crossed the town more slowly than if he had been on foot, and set out for Cidones.
"Whatever is not for the advantage of the rich and the clerical element, there is no hope of." "Those gentlemen have a great deal of influence here?" asked Alzugaray. "Uf! Enormous. More every day." "But there don't appear to be many convents." "No, there are not many convents; but there is one that counts for a hundred, and that is the one at Cidones." "Why is that?"
The people with whom he talked were not disposed to unbosom themselves, and he preferred not to insist, so as not to be suspected. Afterwards he went down to Cidones again and returned to Castro Duro. Caesar was still in bed. Alzugaray went into his room. "Don't you intend to get up?" he asked him. "No." "Don't you intend to eat, either?" "Neither." "Are you sick?" "No."
As he drew near Cidones, the sun appeared. The river was turbid and mud-coloured. Thick grey fog-clouds were rolling about the plain; when they gathered below the hill where Caesar stood, they gave it the appearance of an island in the middle of the sea. From the chimneys of the town the smoke came out like hanks of spun silver, and bells were ringing through this Sunday morning calm.
A movement of terror shook everybody. "Limpy," "Furibis," and the other hysterical ones gathered at the tavern and agreed to set fire to the monastery of la Pena. "Furibis" had arms in his house and divided them among his comrades. A woman fastened a red rag to a stick, and they left Castro by different paths and met opposite Cidones. Nine of them went armed, and various others followed behind.
A few days ago a muleteer from a town in the district arrived here, and went to the inn, and as he had no nickname and they are very fond here in Cidones of giving one to every living creature, they said to him: 'No matter how short a while you stay here, you will be given a nickname'; and he answered contemptuously: 'Bah!
Father Martin is prior of the Franciscan monastery, which was established here after the Order was expelled from Filinas. "Father Martin is an Ultramontanist up to the eyes. He directs priests, friars, nuns, sisters, and is the absolute master of a town nearby called Cidones, where the women are very pious.
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