“Yes; but what ails you?” said Crisóstomo, looking round and recoiling before the hard face and clenched fists of Elias.
“Do you know who Don Pedro Eibarramendia was? Don Pedro Eibarramendia was the wretch who caused all our misfortune! I have long been searching for his descendants; God has delivered you into my hands! Look at me! Do you think I have suffered? And you live, and you love, and have a fortune and a home; you live, you live!” and, beside himself, he ran toward a collection of arms on the wall. But no sooner had he reached down two poniards than he dropped them, looking blindly at Ibarra, who stood rigid.
“What was I going to do?” he said under his breath, and he fled like a madman.
XLVII.
The Catastrophe.
Captain Tiago, Aunt Isabel, and Linares were dining. Maria Clara had said she was not hungry, and was at the piano with Sinang. The two girls had arranged this moment for meeting Ibarra away from too watchful eyes. The clock struck eight.
“He’s coming! Listen!” cried the laughing Sinang.
He entered, white and sad. Maria Clara, in alarm, started toward him, but before any one could speak a fusilade sounded in the street; then random pistol shots, and cries and clamor. Crisóstomo seemed glued to the floor. The diners came running in crying: “The tulisanes! The tulisanes!” Aunt Isabel fell on her knees half dead from fright, Captain Tiago was weeping. Some one rushed about fastening the windows. The tumult continued outside; then little by little there fell a dreadful silence. Presently the alférez was heard crying out as he ran through the street:
“Father Salvi! Father Salvi!”