“What have you done for that poor woman?” Maria asked Ibarra.
“Nothing yet,” he replied, somewhat confused. “But don’t be troubled; the curate has promised to aid me.”
As they spoke, a soldier came dragging Sisa back, rather than leading her. She was resisting.
“Where are you taking her? What has she done?” asked Ibarra.
“What has she done? Didn’t you hear the noise she made?” said the guardian of public tranquillity.
The leper took up his basket and vanished. Maria Clara asked to go home. She had lost all her gayety. Her sadness increased when, arrived at her door, her fiancé refused to go in.
“It must be so to-night,” he said as he bade her good-by.
Maria, mounting the steps, thought how tiresome were fête days, when one must receive so many strangers.
The next evening a little perfumed note came to Ibarra by the hand of Andeng, Maria’s foster sister.
“Crisóstomo, for a whole day I have not seen you. They tell me you are ill. I have lighted two candles and prayed for you. I’m so tired of being asked to play and dance. I did not know there were so many tiresome people in the world. If Father Dámaso had not tried to amuse me with stories, I should have left them all and gone away to sleep. Write me how you are, and if I shall send papa to see you. I send you Andeng now to make your tea; she will do it better than your servants. If you don’t come to-morrow, I shall not go to the ceremony.