“They have disappeared, and there hasn’t been the slightest effort to find them,” said Don Filipo severely, looking at the gobernadorcillo, who lowered his eyes.
“Bring back the woman,” Crisóstomo ordered his servants.
“They have disappeared, did you say?” demanded the alférez. “Your sacristans have disappeared, Father Salvi?”
The curate emptied his glass and made another affirmative sign.
“Ho, ho! father,” cried the alférez with a mocking laugh, rejoiced at the prospect of revenge. “Your reverence loses a few pesos, and my sergeant is routed out to find them; your two sacristans disappear, your reverence says nothing; and you also, señor gobernadorcillo, you also——”
He did not finish, but broke off laughing, and buried his spoon in the red flesh of a papaw.
The curate began with some confusion:
“I was responsible for the money.”
“Excellent reply, reverend pastor of souls!” interrupted the alférez, his mouth full. “Excellent reply, holy man!”
Ibarra was on the point of interfering, but the priest recovered himself.