was
a poor musician. The stage was filled with the players and people
of the town and they were all talking at the same time. There
was Chananay, dressed in the costume of Leonor in the "Trovador,"
talking in corrupted Spanish with Ratia, who was in a school teacher's
costume. There too, was Yeyeng, dressed in a silk wrapper, talking
with the Prince Villardo. There too, Balbino and the Moros, trying
to console the musicians who were more or less sorry sights. Some
Spaniards were walking from one place to another, arguing with every
one they met.

But a nucleus for a mob already formed. Don Filipo knew what was
their intention and tried to stop them.

"Do not break the peace!" he shouted. "To-morrow we will demand
satisfaction: we will have justice. I will take the responsibility
for our getting justice."

"No!" some replied. "They did the same thing in Calamba. The same
thing was promised, but the Alcalde did nothing. We want justice done
by our own hands. To the cuartel!"

In vain the teniente mayor argued with them. The group that had
gathered showed no signs of changing its attitude or purpose. Don
Filipo looked about him, in search of help. He saw Ibarra.

"Senor Ibarra, for my sake, as a favor, hold them while I seek some
cuaderilleros."

"What can I do?" asked the young man, perplexed. But the teniente
mayor was already in the distance.

Ibarra in turn looked about him, for he knew not whom. Fortunately, he
thought he discerned Elias, in the crowd, but not taking an active part
in it. Ibarra ran up to him, seized his arm and said to him in Spanish:

"For heaven's sake! Do something, if you can! I cannot do anything."

The pilot must have understood, for he lost himself in the mob.

Lively discussions were heard mingled with strong interjections. Soon
the mob began to disperse, each one of the participants becoming less
hostile. And it was time for them to do so, for the cuaderilleros
were coming to the scene with fixed bayonets.

In the meantime, what was the curate doing?

Father Salvi had not gone to bed. Standing on foot, immovable and
leaning his face against the shutter, he was looking toward the plaza
and, from time to time, a suppressed sigh escaped his breast. If the
light of his lamp had not been so dim, perhaps one might have seen that
his eyes were filling with tears. Thus he stood for almost an hour.

The tumult in the plaza roused him from this state. Full of surprise,
he followed wit