“I have just come from the tribunal, where I have seen Don Filipo and Don Crisostomo prisoners,” said a man to Sister Puté. “I talked with one of the cuaderilleros on guard. Well, Bruno, the son of the man who was whipped to death, made a declaration last night. As you know, Captain Tiago is going to marry his daughter to a Spaniard. Don Crisostomo, offended, wanted to take revenge and tried to kill all the Spaniards, even the curate. Last night they attacked the convent and the cuartel. Happily, by mercy of God, the curate was in Captain Tiago’s house. They say that many escaped. The Civil Guards burned Don Crisostomo’s house, and if they had not taken him prisoner, they would have burned him, too.”
“They burned the house?”
“All the servants were arrested. Why, you can still see the smoke from here!” said the narrator, approaching the window. “Those who come from there relate very sad things.”
All looked toward the place indicated. A light column of smoke was still ascending to the heavens. All made comments more or less pious, more or less accusatory.
“Poor young man!” exclaimed an old man, the husband of Puté.
“Yes!” replied his wife. “But he did not order a mass for the soul of his father, who undoubtedly needs it more than others.”
“But wife, you don’t have any pity....”
“Sympathy for the excommunicated? It is a sin to have pity for the enemies of God, say the curates. Don’t you remember? He ran over the sacred burial ground as if he were in a cattle pen.”
“But a cattle pen and a cemetery are much alike,” responded the old man, “except that but one class of animals enter the cemetery.”
“What!” cried Sister Puté. “Are you still going to defend him whom God so clearly punishes? You will see that they will arrest you, too. You may support a falling house, if you want to!”