At that moment a woman, pale, thin, miserably dressed, appeared, like a phantom, in the midst of the feast.
“Give the poor woman something to eat,” said the ladies.
She kept on toward the table where the curate was seated. He turned, recognized her, and the knife fell from his hand.
“Give the woman something to eat,” ordered Ibarra.
“The night is dark and the children are gone,” murmured the poor woman. But at sight of the alférez she became frightened and ran, disappearing among the trees.
“Who is it?” demanded several voices.
“Isn’t her name Sisa?” asked Ibarra with interest.
“Your soldiers arrested her,” said the lieutenant to the alférez, with some bitterness; “they brought her all the way across the pueblo for some story about her sons that nobody could clear up.”
“What!” demanded the alférez, turning to the curate. “It is perhaps the mother of your sacristans?”
The curate nodded assent.