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Updated: June 25, 2025
Father Salví, with a weak and trembling voice, led, but, as each one had his own thoughts, nobody paid any attention to him. The prayer had scarcely ended, when Ibarra presented himself. The young man was wearing mourning, not only in his dress, but in his face.
Ibarra smiled as he listened attentively to every detail of the story. Opening his pocket book, he took out a paper in which he had wrapped some withered but fragrant sage leaves. "Your sage leaves," said he in answer to her questioning glance. "The only thing you have ever given me." She, in turn, drew a little, white satin bag from the bosom of her dress.
Your escape must be celebrated! Just think if the stone had fallen on you!" "There is such a thing as a presentiment!" said the Notary. "I said so. Señor Ibarra was reluctant to descend. I saw it!" "Let the festival go on! Give us some music! Weeping will not bring the dead man to life. Captain, serve warrants right here! Let the clerk of the tribunal come. Arrest the superintendent of the work!"
It has been proved that the papers found in the possession of the dead man were forged, since the handwriting was like that of Ibarra seven years ago, but not like that of to-day a fact which shows that it was copied from the letter used as evidence against him.
Without reflecting, without hesitation, he ran toward the house, and thanks to his stylish clothes and determined mien, easily secured admittance. While these short scenes were occurring in the street, in the dining-kiosk of the greater gods there was passed from hand to hand a piece of parchment on which were written in red ink these fateful words: Mene, Tekel, Phares Juan Crisostomo Ibarra
Yesterday, I forgot to ask you for the name of that Spaniard in whose house your grandfather lived." "Don't bother yourself, Señor, about me...." "Look!" continued Ibarra, without noting the agitation of the young man, and putting a piece of bamboo to a flame. "I have made a great discovery. This bamboo is incombustible...." "Don't talk about bamboo now, Señor.
Ibarra was still confused, but the evening breeze, which, in Manila, is at this time of the year always cool and refreshing, seemed gently to lift the hazy mist which hung over his eyes. He removed his hat and drew a deep, long breath. Men of all nationalities passed by in swift carriages or in slow-going, rented calesas.
Father Dámaso was waddling down the road. He was half smiling, but in such a malignant manner, that on seeing him, Ibarra, who was in the act of speaking, lost the thread of his remarks. All were surprised to see Father Dámaso, but, excepting Ibarra, they greeted him with marks of pleasure. They had already reached the last course of the dinner, and the champagne was foaming in the glasses.
"It's not a question of bamboo now, sir, it's a question of your collecting your papers and fleeing at this very moment." Ibarra glanced at him in surprise and, on seeing the gravity of his countenance, dropped the object that he held in his hands. "Burn everything that may compromise you and within an hour put yourself in a place of safety." "Why?" Ibarra was at length able to ask.
The night was dark and in the street some one approached and saluted him respectfully. "Who are you?" asked Ibarra. "Sir, you don't know my name," answered the unknown, "but I've been waiting for you two days." "For what purpose?" "Because nowhere has any pity been shown me and they say that I'm an outlaw, sir.
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