Miguel was informed of its exploits by his ancient professor, Don Juan Vigil, the chaplain of the Colegio de la Merced, whom he met a few days afterwards in the street.
"You have triumphed. Barájoles! God knows I am proud of you and other good friends whom I have had in the thick of the affair. The only thing that I regret is the excesses, don't you know? the excesses against our Holy Mother, the Church.... In front of the house passed that hog of a Marroquín at the head of a regular mob; I saw that you were not with him, and I congratulate you for not being mixed up with such rude people.... He had a card on which was printed, Down with religion and the clergy! He appeared in front of the college, and began to wave the flag, bellowing like a calf: 'Death to the priest! Down with the night-hawks!'"
"I was standing behind the blinds, and barájoles! I felt strongly like going down into the street and giving the hog a good basting!"
Miguel could not restrain a smile as he remembered the slaps which, in days gone by, the priest had given him, and, lest the reason for his smile should be misinterpreted, he hastened to say:—
"Don't you remember, Don Juan, the caning which you gave me one day for having shouted during recess time, Viva Garibaldi?"
"Certainly I remember. And you did not thank me for it, I wager?"
"Not at all."
"That is the way! Do your best to inculcate in your pupils sound ideas of religion and morals, direct their steps in the path of virtue, correct their faults with paternal hand, and then when they become men they do not even thank you for all your vigilance!"
"Let us not dispute about that, Don Juan; for that I thank you with all my heart; but the canings, paternal as they may seem, I shall never feel grateful for—not a shilling's worth!"
"That is all right; I won't say anything more about the matter; the greatest reward for my cares is to see you an earnest man, and well received in society.... But, by the way, you can't imagine the sensation that this devil of a Brutandor gave me the other day. I was walking down the Calle de Alcalá, with the purpose of witnessing the entrance of the leaders of liberty (as you call them now). I was accompanied by the mayordomo and two pupils, when I saw in the procession, lounging in a barouche in which rode two generals in full uniform, my Brutandor, saluting the people as though he were an emperor!... Ave María Purísima! I said to myself, making the sign of the cross; I could scarcely believe the evidence of my own eyes. Of course I knew that this clown mixed in politics, and that he had slobbered a few articles in the papers, although I always imagine that they are about as much his as the compositions that you used to write for him in school; but how could I ever imagine that I should be destined to behold him transformed into a person of importance, riding underneath the triumphal arches as though he had just been conquering the Gauls or overcoming the Scythians? And I declare the idiot was swelling up, swaying round in the barouche, as though he had ridden all his life in one!"