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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.
"Oh, before I forget about it tell those who may have scruples, if perhaps there is any one who fears to speak to me, that I'm no longer excommunicated. The Archbishop invited me to dinner." "Abá, sir, we don't pay any attention to excommunications! All of us are excommunicated. Padre Damaso himself is and yet he stays fat." "How's that?"
"Yes, Padre Damaso has said," the curate went on, without taking his gaze from Maria Clara, "that as being her sponsor in baptism, he can't permit but, after all, I believe that if Señor Ibarra begs his pardon, which I don't doubt he'll do, everything will be settled." Maria Clara rose, made some excuse, and retired to her chamber, accompanied by Victoria.
Fray Bernardo Salvi was that silent young Franciscan of whom we have spoken before. In his habits and manners he was quite different from his brethren and even from his predecessor, the violent Padre Damaso. He was thin and sickly, habitually pensive, strict in the fulfilment of his religious duties, and careful of his good name.
During this period of transition, so full of mystery and romance, on the advice of the parish priest, Maria Clara entered the religious retreat of Santa Catalina in order to receive from the nuns a strictly religious education. She left Father Dámaso in tears, and likewise the only friend of her childhood, Crisostomo Ibarra. Shortly after the entrance to the convent, Ibarra went to Europe.
During the absence of Father Dámaso from San Diego, his assistant buried the body of a very worthy person. Yes, sir, an extremely worthy person! I had known the man from time to time and had often been his guest. What if he never had been to confession? I do not confess, either. To say that he committed suicide is a lie, a slander.
The expert, well satisfied with such acquiescence, changed his tone and continued: "Soon the curate will send for us. We must tell him which preacher we've chosen of the three that he suggested yesterday, whether Padre Damaso, Padre Martin, or the coadjutor. I don't know whether the Tertiary Brethren have yet made any choice, so we must decide." "The coadjutor," murmured Juana timidly. "Ahem!
After the first moments of effusion had passed and inquiries about Carlicos and his wife had been made and answered, Padre Damaso asked, "Come now, what does Carlicos want me to do for you?" "I believe he says something about that in the letter," Linares again stammered. "In the letter? Let's see! That's right! He wants me to get you a job and a wife. Ahem! A job, a job that's easy!
Meanwhile, Padre Damaso, instead of reciting the Ave Maria, was scolding his holy ghost for having skipped three of his best paragraphs; at the same time he consumed a couple of cakes and a glass of Malaga, secure of encountering therein greater inspiration than in all the holy ghosts, whether of wood in the form of a dove or of flesh in the shape of an inattentive friar.
Maria Clara covered her ears. "Don't speak of him not now!" she cried. Padre Damaso gazed at her in startled wonder. "Won't you trust me with your secrets? Haven't I always tried to satisfy your lightest whim?" The maiden raised eyes filled with tears and stared at him for a long time, then again fell to weeping bitterly. "Don't cry so, little girl. Your tears hurt me.
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