“This very night!” exclaimed the alferez, moving at first toward Father Salví, and then running after his revolver and saber, which were hanging on the wall: “Whom shall I arrest? Whom shall I arrest?” he cried.
“Be calm. It is not yet time, thanks to my great haste. At eight o’clock.”
“I’ll shoot them all!”
“Listen! This afternoon a woman, whose name I must not mention (it is a secret of the confessional) came to me and disclosed it all. At eight o’clock they will take the cuartel by surprise, sack the convent, seize the Government’s steamboat and assassinate all the Spaniards.”
The alferez was stupified.
“The woman has not told more than that,” added the curate.
“Has not told you more? Then I’ll arrest her!”
“No; I cannot consent to it. The tribunal of penitence is the throne of God of forgiveness.”
“Neither God nor forgiveness count in this matter. I’ll arrest her.”
“You are losing your head. What you ought to do is to prepare yourself. Arm your soldiers quietly and put them in ambush. Send me four Guards for the convent and notify the people on the Government steamboat.”