The young girl did not reply, but with a rapid movement she bent over and kissed either the crucifix or the hand which offered it to her, I do not know which.
The friar went on bringing out from his bag a variety of rosaries, some of pearl, others of black olive-pits strung on a cord and not yet clasped into a circle. “These come from the olive-trees on the Mount of Olives,” he explained, while he separated and distributed them among those who were present. When it came to my turn, I must have made a movement of surprise, for the friar said, with stately courtesy:
“Don’t you want it? You must take things, remembering from whom they come; we are poor by vocation, so we cannot offer gifts of more material value, Sir Salustio.”
I took the rosary, somewhat embarrassed by the lesson he gave me. Meanwhile some people had arrived from San Andrés to help pass the evening pleasantly, and make up a game at cards: the parish priest, the druggist, and an adjutant of the Marines. They offered me the fourth seat at the table, but I refused, as I feared I might lose, and find myself without money in a stranger’s house. My uncle sat down by his sweetheart and began to talk to her. Father Moreno went off to read his breviary, and I was again left to the tender mercies of the clerical apprentice.
“Where is my room?” I inquired. “Do you know? I should like to go to bed.”
“I don’t know,” he said; “but he who has a tongue—goes to Rome. Come on, take hold of my little finger.”
We went through the dining-room. The lamp was still lit, and the old woman was overlooking the operation of taking off the table-cloth, gathering up the glasses and plates, and putting away the dessert. I again fixed my attention on the retired sultana. She certainly must have been good-looking in former times, but now her scanty gray locks, her skin blotched with erysipelas, together with her great obesity, rendered her abominable. She appeared to be industrious, fond of scolding, but at the same time quite humble, and resigned to her life below stairs.
The little priest, preparatory to asking her a question, squeezed her right arm.
“Oh, Serafín, be quiet. What impudent tricks you do play! My, what a fellow!”
“Mulier, one can pinch you without danger; for you are at least proof against all temptation. Where is the cubiculo, or, in other words, bed-room of this young gentleman?”