[1] A plant (Desmodium caresceus), the dry seeds of which cling to the clothing.
Chapter XXXVII.
Vae Victis!
Civil Guards were passing with a sinister air to and fro in front of the door of the tribunal, threatening with the butts of their guns the daring boys who stood on tip-toe or raised each other up in order to look through the grates in the windows.
The sala did not present that same joyful aspect as it did when the program for the festival was being discussed. It was gloomy and the silence was almost death-like. The Civil Guards and the cuaderilleros who were occupying the room scarcely spoke and the few words that they did pronounce were in a low tone. Around the table sat the directorcillo, two writers and some soldiers scribbling papers. The alferez walked from one side to the other, looking from time to time ferociously toward the door. Themistocles after the battle of Salamis could not have shown more pride at the Olympic games. Doña Consolacion yawned in one corner of the room, and disclosed her black palate and her crooked teeth. Her cold and evil look was fixed on the door of the jail, covered with indecent pictures. Her husband, made amiable by the victory, had yielded to her request to be allowed to witness the interrogation and, perhaps, the tortures which were to follow. The hyena smelled the dead body, she licked her chops and was wearied at the delay in the punishment.
The gobernadorcillo’s chair, that large chair under the portrait of His Majesty, was empty and seemed destined for some other person.
At nearly nine o’clock, the curate, pale and with eyebrows knit, arrived.
“Well, you haven’t made any one wait!” said the alferez sarcastically to the friar.
“I would have preferred not to be present,” replied Father Salví, in a low voice, without taking notice of the bitter tone.... “I am very nervous.”