It was now time to eat. The curate, the coadjutor, the alferez, the gobernadorcillo, and some of the captains, together with the tenente mayor sat down at the table over which Ibarra presided. The mothers of the girls did not allow any one to eat at the table with their charges.
“Do you know anything yet, Señor Alferez, about the criminal who assaulted Father Dámaso?” asked Father Salví.
“About what criminal, Father?” asked the alferez, looking at the parish priest through his empty wine glass.
“About whom could it be? About the one who, day before yesterday, struck Father Dámaso, of course.”
“Struck Father Dámaso?” asked a number of voices.
The coadjutor was seen to smile.
“Yes; and Father Dámaso is now in bed. It is believed that the culprit was that same Elias who once threw you into a mud-hole, Señor Alferez.”
The alferez colored up a little, either from shame or too much wine.
“I thought that you were interested in the affair,” continued Father Salví, with a little jeering in his manner.
The alferez bit his lips and mumbled out a silly excuse.