III.
The Dinner.
The two monks finding themselves near the head of the table, like two candidates for a vacant office, began politely resigning in each other’s favor.
“This is your place, Brother Dámaso.”
“No, yours, Brother Sibyla.”
“You are so much the older friend of the family.”
“But you are the curate of the quarter.”
This polite contention settled, the guests sat down, no one but Ibarra seeming to think of the master of the house.
“What,” said he, “you’re not to be with us, Don Santiago?”
But there was no place: Lucullus was not dining with Lucullus.