The husband was silent; the argument had told.
“Yes,” went on the old woman. “After striking down Father Dámaso, there was nothing left but to kill Father Salvi!”
“But you can’t deny he was a good child.”
“Yes, he was good,” replied the old woman; “but he went to Europe, and those who go to Europe come back heretics, the curates say.”
“Oho!” said the husband, taking his advantage. “And the curate, and all the curates, and the archbishop, and the pope, aren’t they all Spaniards? What? And are they heretics?”
Happily for Sister Putá, the conversation was cut short. A servant came running, pale and horror-stricken.
“A man hung—in our neighbor’s garden!” she gasped.
A man hung! Nobody stirred.
“Let’s come and see,” said the old man, rising.
“Don’t go near him,” cried Sister Putá, “’twill bring us misfortune. If he’s hung, so much the worse for him!”