, also figured in
the procession. San Bernardo never went anywhere alone. As even children
in baby-school knew, not a power on earth, not all the men and horses in
the orchards put together, could lift the saint from his altar unless
his sisters went first. That was one of his miracles long accredited by
tradition. He had very little confidence in women--less pious
commentators said--and not willing to trust his sisters out of sight, he
insisted that they precede him whenever he left his pedestal.

The holy sisters appeared in the church doorway, swaying on their
litters above the heads of the worshippers.

"_Vitol les chermanetes!_"

And the poor _chermanetes_, dripping from every fold of their vestments,
came out into that dark, tempestuous, rain-soaked atmosphere that was
rent by sheaves of crude light from the tapers.

The musicians tuned their instruments, ready to break into the Royal
March! In the brilliantly lighted doorway something shining could be
seen laboriously advancing, swaying this way and that, as if the waves
of an angry sea were rocking it.

The crowd again began to cheer, and the music sounded.

"_Vitol el pare San Bernat!_"

But the music and the acclamations were drowned by a deafening crash, as
if the island had suddenly burst into a thousand pieces, dragging the
city to the depths of the Abyss. The square was shooting a fusillade of
lightning flashes, a veritable cannonade. Those ancient arms,
blunderbusses, muzzle-loaders, pistols, crammed full of powder, could
roar like artillery. All the guns in the neighborhood were saluting the
appearance of the Saint. And the crowd, drunk with the smell of powder,
began to shout and gesticulate in the presence of that bronze image,
whose round, kindly face--that of a healthy well-fed friar--seemed to
quiver with life in the light of the torches.

Eight strong men, almost naked, came forward staggering under the weight
of the metal saint. The crowd surged against them, threatening to upset
the statue. But two bare-breasted strong-armed boys, devotees of the
patron, were marching on either side, and they fought the multitude
back.

The women, shoved hither and thither and almost suffocated in the jam,
burst into tears as their gaze fell upon the miraculous image.

"_Ay_, father San Bernardo! Father San Bernardo! Save us! Save us!"

Others dragged children out from the folds of their skirts, and held
them out above their heads toward the powerful