ded and the mass beginning when Gabriel entered the
Cathedral, the lower servants were discussing at the door of the
sacristy the great event of the day. His Eminence had not come down to
the choir and would not assist at the procession. He said he was ill,
but those of the household laughed at this excuse, remembering that
the evening before he had walked as far as the Hermitage of the Virgin
de la Vega. The truth was he would not meet his Chapter; he was
furious with them, and showed his anger by refusing to preside over
them in the choir.

Gabriel strolled through the naves. The congregation of the faithful
was greater than on other days, but even so the Cathedral seemed
deserted. In the crossways, kneeling between the choir and the high
altar, were several nuns in starched linen bibs and pointed hoods, in
charge of sundry groups of children dressed in black, with red or
blue stripes according to the colleges to which they belonged; a
few officials from the academy, fat and bald, listened to the mass
standing, bending their heads over their cuirass. In this scattered
assemblage, listening to the music, stood out the pupils from the
school of noble ladies, some of them quite girls, others proud-looking
young women in all the pride of their budding beauty, looking on with
glowing eyes, all dressed in black silk, with mantillas of blonde
mounted over high combs with bunches of roses--aristocratic ladies
with "_manolesca_" grace, escaped from a picture by Goya.

Gabriel saw his nephew the Tato dressed in his scarlet robes like the
noble Florentine, striking the pavement with his staff to scare the
dogs. He was talking with a group of shepherds from the mountains,
swarthy men twisted and gnarled as vine shoots, in brown jackets,
leather sandals, and thonged leggings; women with red kerchiefs
and greasy and mended garments that had descended through several
generations. They had come down from their mountains to see the Corpus
of Toledo, and they walked through the naves with wonder in their
eyes, starting at the sound of their own footsteps, trembling each
time the organ rolled, as though fearing to be turned out of that
magic palace, which seemed to them like one in a fairy tale. The women
pointed out with their fingers the coloured glass windows, the great
rosettes on the porches, the gilded warriors on the clock of the
Puerta de la Feria, the tubes of the organs, and finally remained
open-mouthed in stupid wonder. Th