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Updated: June 8, 2025
He sat there a long while, looking through the railings at the Virgin del Sagrario. Born in the Cathedral and brought up as a child by his mother, who knelt with him before the image, he had always admired it as the most perfect type of beauty. Now he criticised it coldly with his artistic eye.
Sagrario obliged to be idle in order to keep the feast day holy, had gone to the shoemaker's house, and while he was showing the giants to the servants and soldiers of the academy, and the peasants from the country, Luna's niece helped to mend the clothes for the poor woman crushed by poverty and the superabundance of children.
He watched Sagrario always sad, devoting herself to her work with taciturn tenacity; when now and then she raised her head to regulate her cotton and met Gabriel's glance, a faint smile would pass over her face.
The "Wooden Staff" appeared even more sad, and he looked grimly at his brother. "She also died," he said drily. "Sagrario also dead!" exclaimed Gabriel astounded. "She is dead to me, which is the same thing. Brother, by all you love best in the world, do not speak to me of her."
Very often Sagrario would try to send her uncle away; it pained her to see him sitting close by her, doing nothing, coughing painfully, fixing his eyes upon her as though she were an object of adoration. "Get up from here," the girl would say gaily "it makes me nervous seeing you so very quiet keeping me company when what you want is life and movement.
Sagrario, who had never been out of the upper cloister since her return to the paternal roof, looked at the stars with delight. "How many stars!" she murmured dreamily. "There are more than usual to-night," said the bell-ringer. "The summer sky seems a field of stars in which the harvest increases with the fine weather." Gabriel smiled at the simplicity of his companions.
Sounds of footsteps were heard on the narrow circular staircase in the thickness of the wall that led from the sitting-room to the storey above. "It is Don Luis," said the "Wooden Staff," "he is going to say his mass in the chapel of the Sagrario, and afterwards to the choir." Gabriel rose from his sofa to salute the priest.
I love you, Sagrario; we are two fugitives from society, whose paths must join; I am hated as dangerous, you are despised as an outcast; misfortune has laid hold on us. Our bodies are weakened and we bear the wounds of the conquered, but before death claims us, let us make our lives sweet by love. Let us seek for roses as did poor Lucy."
My love is for you, to brighten what remains to you of life." Sagrario leant on Gabriel's breast. "How good you are!" she sighed; "what a beautiful soul!" "Yours is the same, poor Sagrario. Your life has been a snare. You sold yourself through hunger and despair as do thousands of others; you thought to find bread in the false pretences of love.
"Don Sebastian is only a man; all sinners who have much to answer for before God. They cannot be anything else, and so I forgive them. But believe me, nephew, I often feel inclined to laugh when I see the people kneeling before them. I believe in the Virgin of the Sagrario, and a little in God; but in these gentlemen! If you only knew them as I do!
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