‘You will not do that,’ replied Concha, ‘when you hear my news.’
‘Ah!’
‘But first you must promise me not to make use of the information I give you against any suspected persons—to take, in fact, only preventive measures.’
‘You have only to name it, my friend. Proceed.’
The old priest paused and passed his hand across his brow. He was breathless still, and looked worn.
‘It is,’ he said, ‘a very grave matter. I have not had much experience in such things, for my path has always lain in small parochial affairs—dealings with children and women.’
Estella was already pouring some wine into a glass. With a woman’s instinct she saw that the old man was overwrought and faint. It was a Friday, and in his simple way there was no more austere abstinent than Father Concha, who had probably touched little food throughout the long hot day.
‘Take your time, my friend; take your time,’ said the General, who never hurried and was never too late. ‘A pinch of snuff now—it stimulates the nerves.’
‘It is,’ said Concha at length—breaking a biscuit in his long bony fingers and speaking unembarrassedly with his mouth full—’it is that I have by the merest accident lighted upon a matter of political importance.’
The General nodded, and held his wine up to the light.