But, whatever deplorable results the visit of Diego might entail, he had at least brought present comfort to Josè in his report of the militant uprising now in progress, and the latter would sleep this night without the torment of dread apprehension.
The next morning Diego entered the parish house just as master and pupil were beginning their day’s work.
“Ha!” he exclaimed, “our parochial school is quite discriminating! No? One pupil! Bien, are there not enough children in the town to warrant a larger school, and with a Sister in charge? I will report the matter to the good Bishop.”
Josè’s wrath leaped into flame. “There is a school here, as you know, amigo, with a competent master,” he replied with what calmness he could muster.
It was perhaps a hasty and unfortunate remark, for Josè knew he had been jealously selfish with Carmen.
“Caramba, yes!” retorted Diego. “A private school, to 118 which the stubborn beasts that live in this sink will not send their brats! There must be a parochial school in Simití, supported by the people! Oh, don’t worry; there is gold enough here, buried in patios and under these innocent-looking mud walls, to support the Pope for a decade––and that,” he chuckled, “is no small sum!”
His eyes roved over Carmen and he began a mental appraisement of the girl. “Caramba!” muttering half to himself, after he had feasted his sight upon her for some moments, “but she is large for her age––and, Dios y diablo! a ravishing beauty!”
He stood for a while wrapped in thought. Then an idea seemed to filter through his cunning brain. His coarse, unmoral face brightened, and his thick lips parted in an evil smile.
“Come here, little one,” he said patronizingly, extending his arms to the child. “Come, give your good Padre his morning kiss.”
The girl shrank back in her chair and looked appealingly at Josè.