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Updated: May 13, 2025
The prevailing wind which hurries down from the Pyrenees to the warmer plains of Spain stirred the budding leaves of the trees that border the road below the town walls. "I suppose," said Sor Teresa suddenly, "that Evasio Mon was at Torre Garda to-day." "Yes." "And you left him there when you came away." "Yes." "We shall meet him on the road," said Sor Teresa with a note of anxiety in her voice.
Evasio Mon, however, was among those who deemed it wise to avoid the great festival at Montserrat by making his pilgrimage earlier in the summer, when the number of the devout was more restricted and their quality more select. Scores of thousands of the very poorest in the land flock to the monastery in September, turning the mountain into a picnic ground and the festival into a fair.
Before receiving the living he visited the dead man who may be assumed to have been honest in his intention, as he undoubtedly proved himself to be brave in action; the best man that Spain produced in her time of trouble. Among the first to bow before the King were the two Sarrions, and as they returned into an anteroom they came face to face with Evasio Mon, waiting his turn there.
"On one condition" wrote the notary, who had leant forward, but sat upright rather suddenly in obedience to a signal from Evasio Mon in the doorway. He had forgotten his tonsure. "That he does not go into religion that he devotes no part of it to the benefit or advantage of the church." The notary sat very straight while he wrote this down.
Evasio Mon's suggestion had come at an opportune moment. "Leon is much exercised on your account," said Mon, quietly, as if he had divined her thoughts. It was unlike Leon, perhaps, to be exercised about anything but his own soul; for he was a very devout man. But Juanita was not likely to pause and reflect on that point. "Why?" she asked.
As he spoke the door opened and an old man came in. He had papers and a quill pen in his hand. "You sent for me a notary," he said. Evasio Mon stood in the doorway a yard behind the dying man's head. The notary moved the table so that in looking at his client he could, with the corner of his eye, see also the face of Evasio Mon. "You wish to make a statement or a last testament?" said the notary.
There were carts here now with dim, old-fashioned lanterns, and long teams of mules waiting patiently to be relieved of their massive collars. The first man he met told him that Evasio Mon must have arrived in Saragossa at sunset, for he had passed him on the road, going at a good pace on horseback.
And it was not for him, any more than it is for the profane reader, to inquire why latter-day miracles are nearly always performed at or near popular health resorts. Was another in grief, Evasio Mon would send him on a long journey to a gay city, where the devout are not without worldly diversion in the evenings. Neither was it upon hearsay only that he prescribed.
Both men alike averted their eyes at once, and both looked towards a little wizened man, doubled up in his chair, who ate sparingly, and bore on his wrinkled face and bent form, the evidence of such a weight of care as few but kings and ministers ever know. So absorbed was he that after one glance at Evasio Mon he lapsed again into his own thoughts.
If Evasio Mon's face said anything at all, it warned the world that it had to deal with a man of perfect self-control. And the man who controls himself is usually able to control just so much of his surrounding world as may suit his purpose. There was something in the set of this man's eyes which suggested no easy victory over self. For his eyes were close together. His hair was almost red.
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