Next day the servants, horses, and mules which the duke had ordered for his departure arrived.
The cries, the good wishes, and the preparations for travel resounded throughout the convent.
Morrongo climbed upon the top of the roof and slept in the sun, and cast a look of contempt upon the tumult raised below him.
Palomo barked, growled, and protested so energetically against the strange invasion, that Manuel ordered Momo to fasten him up.
“There is no doubt,” said Momo, “but my grandma, who is a charlatan the most skilful to be found under the canopy of heaven, has no lover now to attract invalids to this house.”
The day of departure arrived. The duke was ready in his room. Stein and the Gaviota had arrived, followed by the poor fisherman, whose looks were on the ground, and his body bent double under the weight of his grief. This grief had made him old more than his years, more than ocean’s tempests; he let himself fall on the steps of the marble cross.
As to Modesto, he was there also; consternation was painted in his face. The infinitely small lock of hair on his head fell flabby and soft on one side; profound sighs escaped him.
“What ails you, my commandant?” asked Maria of him.
“Good Maria,” he replied, “to-day is the 15th of June, the day of my holy patron, a day sad and memorable in the past of my life. O San Modesto! is it possible that you treat me thus, even on the day which the church celebrates?”
“But what new thing has happened?” asked Maria, with impatience.