rned pale and allowed himself to be led along by the priest,
who was deep in thought.

Then it was Father Salvi's turn to walk up and down the room and he
did so, meditating, as was his custom.

A voice bidding him good morning stopped his monotonous tread. He
raised his head and his eyes met Lucas, who saluted him humbly.

"What do you want?" asked the eyes of the curate.

"Father, I am the brother of the man who was killed on the day of
the fiesta," replied Lucas, in a tearful tone.

Father Salvi stepped back.

"And what of it?" he muttered, in an unintelligible voice.

Lucas made an effort to weep, and dried his eyes with his handkerchief.

"Father," said he, crying, "I have been to Crisostomo's house to ask
him for indemnity. At first, he received me with kicks, saying that
he would not pay anything, since he had run the risk of being killed
through the fault of my dear, unfortunate brother. Yesterday, I went
to talk with him again, but he had already left for Manila, leaving
me for charity's sake five hundred pesos for my poor brother--five
hundred pesos--ah! Father."

The curate listened to the first part of his story with surprise and
attention, but slowly there appeared on his lips a smile--a smile
of such contempt and sarcasm at the comedy that was being played,
that if Lucas had seen it he would have fled in all haste.

"And what do you want now?" he asked, turning his back to him.

"Alas! Father, for love of God tell me what I ought to do. Father,
you have always given good advice."

"Who has told you that? You do not live here."

"But the whole province knows you, Father!"

Father Salvi went up to him with his eyes full of anger and, motioning
to the street, said to the frightened Lucas:

"Go to your house and give thanks to Don Crisostomo that he has not
sent you to jail. Get away from here."

Forgetting his role, Lucas muttered:

"Well, I thought----"

"Out of here!" cried Father Salvi, in a nervous tone.

"I want to see Father Damaso."

"Father Damaso is busy. Out of here!" ordered the curate, in an
imperative tone, again.

Lucas went down the stairs murmuring: "He is another. How poorly he
pays! He who pays better...."

The voice of the curate had reached the ears of all in the house,
even Father Damaso, Captain Tiago and Linares.

"An insolent beggar who came to ask alms and doesn't want to work,"
said Father Salvi, taking his hat and cane and starting toward the
convent.