“Yes, son of mine,” said the Bishop.
“Then you know the latest news about me. She told you everything.”
“Somewhat! Somewhat! She spoke somewhat of you, the poor little thing. Thanks to God she has her sons with her. They are safely back in their native country, in good health.”
“Did you see them?”
“Yes! Yes! Two of my dearest children! Very sympathetic, very intelligent, like their father; and, like him, promising to be of very handsome presence. Yes! Yes! Smoke if you will, my General. Don’t hesitate.”
Cipriano lit a cigarette. From old associations, he was nervous, albeit amused.
“You know all about what I want to do, Father?” said Ramón.
“I don’t know all, son of mine, but I know enough. I wouldn’t want to hear more. Eh!” he sighed. “It is very sad.”
“Not so very sad, Father, if we don’t make it sad. Why make a sad thing out of it, Father? We are in Mexico for the most part Indians. They cannot understand the high Christianity, Father, and the Church knows it. Christianity is a religion of the spirit, and must needs be understood if it is to have any effect. The Indians cannot understand it, any more than the rabbits of the hills.”
“Very good! Very good! Son of mine! But we can convey it to them. The rabbits of the hills are in the hands of God.”