“Ah! ah! well, well! we shall see who is the stronger, we shall see!” he murmured, as he left the two women somewhat surprised and went up the steps.
“He’s probably committing his sermon,” said Aunt Isabel. “Come, we are late!”
We cannot say whether Father Dámaso was committing a sermon, but he must have been absorbed in important things, for he did not offer his hand to Captain Tiago.
“Santiago,” he said, “we must have a serious talk. Come into your office.”
Captain Tiago felt uneasy. He answered nothing, but followed the gigantic priest, who closed the door behind them.
While they talk, let us see what has become of Father Sibyla.
The learned Dominican, his mass once said, had set out for the convent of his order, which stands at the entrance to the city, near the gate bearing alternately, according to the family reigning at Madrid, the name of Magellan or Isabella II.
Brother Sibyla entered, crossed several halls, and knocked at a door.
“Come in,” said a faint voice.
“God give health to your reverence,” said the young Dominican, entering. Seated in a great armchair was an old priest, meagre, jaundiced, like Rivera’s saints. His eyes, deep-sunken in their orbits, were arched with heavy brows, intensifying the flashes of their dying light.