The example had been set. Without any doubt the opening and closing of the shutter has been heard, for another window was opened very slowly and cautiously and a wrinkled and toothless old woman thrust out her head. She was called Sister Ruté. She looked about, knit her brows, spit noisily and then crossed herself. In the house opposite, a little window was timidly opened and her friend, Sister Rufa appeared. They looked at each other for a moment, smiled, made some signals, and again crossed themselves.
“Jesús! It was like a thanksgiving mass,” said Sister Rufa.
“Since the time that Bálat sacked the town I have never seen a night like it,” replied Sister Puté.
“What a lot of shots! They say that it was old Pablo’s gang.”
“Tulisanes? It couldn’t be. They say that it was the cuaderilleros against the Civil Guards. For this reason, they have arrested Don Filipo.”
“Sanctus Deus! They say that there are no less than fourteen killed.”
Other windows were opened and different faces appeared, exchanging salutations and commenting on the affair.
In the light of the day—which promised to be a splendid one—could be seen in the distance, like ash-colored shadows, soldiers hurrying about in confusion.
“There goes another corpse!” said some one from one of the windows.
“One? I see two.”