The child dropped asleep, just as a heavy step fell outside the door. Ana sprang up and extinguished the lamp, then went quickly out into the rotunda. Padre Diego was standing on the top step, puffing and weaving unsteadily. The woman hurried to him and passed an arm about his waist.
“Oh!” she exclaimed in a tone of feigned solicitation. “I feared you had met with an accident! My heart beats like the patter of rain! Why do you stay out so late and cause me worry?”
The bloated face of the man leered like a Jack-o’-lantern. “Spiritual retreat, my love––spiritual retreat,” he muttered thickly. “Imbibing the spirits, you know.” He laughed heavily at his coarse joke.
The woman gave him a look of inexpressible disgust. “But you are home safe, at any rate,” she said in a fawning voice; “and my fear is quieted. Come now, and I will help you into bed. Not in there!” she cried, as he lurched toward the door of the room where Carmen lay; “in your own room to-night!”
He swayed to and fro before her, as she stood with her back against the door.
“Nombre de Dios!” he muttered, “but you grow daily more unkind to your good Padre! Bien, it is well that I have a fresh little housekeeper coming!” He made again as if to enter the room. The woman threw her arms about his neck.
“Padre dear,” she appealed, “have you ceased to love your Anita? She would spend this night alone; and can you not favor her this once?”
“Caramba!” he croaked in peevish suspicion, “but I think you have a paramour in there. Bien, I will go in and shrive his wicked soul!”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you!” cried the desperate woman, her hand stealing to the weapon concealed in her dress. “Pepito came this evening with the case of Oporto which you ordered long ago from Spain. I put it in your study, for I knew you would want to sample it the moment you returned.”
“Caramba!” he cried, turning upon her, “why do you not tell me important things as soon as I arrive? I marvel that you did not wait until morning to break this piece of heavenly news! Bien, come to the study, and you shall open a bottle for me. Dios! but my throat is seared with Don Antonio’s vile rum! My parched soul panteth for the wine of the gods that flows from sunny Spain! Caramba, woman, give yourself haste!”