“Mercy!” exclaimed Aunt Isabel. “The alférez is asking for confession!”
“The alférez is wounded!” murmured Linares, with an expression of the utmost relief.
“The tulisanes have killed the alférez! Maria, Sinang, into your chamber! Barricade the door!”
In spite of the protests of Aunt Isabel, Ibarra went out into the street. Everything seemed turning round and round him; his ears rang; he could scarcely move his limbs. Spots of blood, flashes of light and darkness alternated before his eyes. The streets were deserted, but the barracks were in confusion, and voices came from the tribunal, that of the alférez dominating all the others. Ibarra passed unchallenged, and reached his home, where his servants were anxiously watching for him.
“Saddle me the best horse and go to bed,” he said to them.
He entered his cabinet and began to pack a valise. He had put in his money and jewels and Maria’s picture and was gathering up his papers when there came three resounding knocks at the house door.
“Open in the name of the King! Open or we force the door!” said an imperious voice. Ibarra armed himself and looked toward the window; then changed his mind, threw down his revolver, and went to the door. Three guards immediately seized him.
“I make you prisoner in the name of the King!” said the sergeant.
“Why?”
“You will learn at the tribunal; I am forbidden to talk with you.”