e way they must make a living. It would be a greater misfortune if
there were lawsuits enough for all of them."

"Pepe, for Heaven's sake, take care what you say," said Dona Perfecta,
in a tone of marked severity. "But excuse him, Senor Don Inocencio, for
he is not aware that you have a nephew who, although he has only lately
left the university, is a prodigy in the law."

"I speak in general terms," said Pepe, with firmness. "Being, as I am,
the son of a distinguished lawyer, I cannot be ignorant of the fact
that there are many men who practise that noble profession with honor to
themselves."

"No; my nephew is only a boy yet," said the canon, with affected
humility. "Far be it from me to assert that he is a prodigy of learning,
like Senor de Rey. In time, who can tell? His talents are neither
brilliant nor seductive. Of course, Jacinto's ideas are solid and his
judgment is sound. What he knows he knows thoroughly. He is unacquainted
with sophistries and hollow phrases."

Pepe Rey appeared every moment more and more disturbed. The idea that,
without desiring it, his opinions should be in opposition to those of
the friends of his aunt, vexed him, and he resolved to remain silent
lest he and Don Inocencio should end by throwing the plates at each
other's heads. Fortunately the cathedral bell, calling the canon to the
important duties of the choir, extricated him from his painful position.
The venerable ecclesiastic rose and took leave of every one, treating
Rey with as much amiability and kindness as if they had been old and
dear friends. The canon, after offering his services to Pepe for all
that he might require, promised to present his nephew to him in order
that the young man might accompany him to see the town, speaking in the
most affectionate terms and deigning, on leaving the room, to pat him
on the shoulder. Pepe Rey, accepting with pleasure these formulas of
concord, nevertheless felt indescribably relieved when the priest had
left the dining-room and the house.

CHAPTER VIII

IN ALL HASTE

A little later the scene had changed. Don Cayetano, finding rest from
his sublime labors in a gentle slumber that had overcome him after
dinner, reclined comfortably in an arm-chair in the dining-room.
Rosarito, seated at one of the windows that opened into the garden,
glanced at her cousin, saying to him with the mute eloquence of her
eyes:

"Cousin, sit down here beside me and tell me every thing you have to