“No. It is the house of a Christian; and if you had been here you would have done as I did.”
“Oh! certainly not,” continued Manuel; “I would have put him on our ass and conducted him to the village, now there are no more convents.”
“We had not our ass here, and there was no one to take charge of this unfortunate man.”
“And if he is a robber?”
“Dying men do not rob.”
“And if his illness is long, who will take care of him?”
“They have just killed a fowl to make broth,” said Momo, “I saw the feathers in the court.”
“Have you lost your mind, mother!” cried Manuel furiously.
“Enough, enough,” said his mother, in a severe tone. “You ought to blush for shame to dare to quarrel with me because I have obeyed the law of God. If your father were still living, he would not believe that his son could refuse to open his door to the unfortunate, ill, without succor, and dying.”
Manuel bowed his head: there was a moment of silence.