“Bien pues, Fernando, I think the time has come! Go quietly back and summon every one to a meeting in the town hall at once. Tell them––”
“Bien, Padre, I shall know what to tell them. But,” anxiously, “Don Mario has the power to––”
“And we have a greater power,” quickly replied the priest, his thought dwelling on Carmen.
An hour later the town hall was a babel of clacking tongues. Men, women and children hurried, chattering, to and fro, exchanging diverse views and speculating eagerly on the probable outcome of the meeting. Josè stood before them, with Carmen’s hand clasped tightly in his. Don Mario, purple and trembling with rage, was perched upon a chair, vainly trying to get the ear of the people.
In the midst of the hubbub a hush fell suddenly over the concourse. All heads turned, and all eyes fastened upon Ana, as she entered the room and moved timidly toward Josè. The people fell back to make a passage for her. Her shoulders were bent, and her face was covered with a black mantilla.
Don Mario, as his glance fell upon her, again attempted to address the multitude. A dozen voices bade him cease. A strong arm from behind pushed him from the chair. His craven heart began to quake, and he cast anxious glances toward the single exit.
Gently removing the mantilla from the face of the woman, Josè turned her toward the people. “Friends!” he said in a loud, penetrating voice, “behold the work of Diego!”
He paused for the effect which he knew would be made upon this impressionable people. Then, when the loud murmur had passed, he drew Carmen out before him and, pointing to her, said dramatically, “And shall we also throw this innocent child to the wolf?”
The assembly broke into a roar. Fists were shaken under the Alcalde’s nose, and imprecations were hurled at him from all sides. Don Mario drew his soiled handkerchief and mopped his steaming brow. Then his voice broke out in a shriek: “The soldiers––this day I shall summon them––it is a riot!”