Possibly some of these remarks reached the ears of Maria Clara. She grew paler, her hand trembled, her lips seemed to move.
In the circles of men the talk was loud, and naturally the recent events were the subject of conversation. Everybody talked, even Don Tiburcio.
“I hear that your reverence is about to leave the pueblo,” said the new lieutenant, whom his new star had made more amiable.
“I have no more to do there; I am to be placed permanently at Manila. And you?” asked Father Salvi.
“I also leave the pueblo,” said he, throwing back his shoulders; “I am going with a flying column to rid the province of filibusters.”
Father Salvi surveyed his old enemy from top to toe, and turned away with a disdainful smile.
“Is it known certainly what is to be done with the chief filibuster?” asked a clerk.
“You are speaking of Don Crisóstomo Ibarra,” replied another. “It is very probable that he will be hung, like those of 1872, and it will be very just.”
“He is to be exiled,” said the old lieutenant dryly.
“Exile! Nothing but exile?” cried numerous voices at once. “Then it must be for life!”