Ibarra had departed, to ascertain the condition of Maria Clara.
“Let this not prevent the festival from continuing,” said the Alcalde. “God be praised! The dead man is neither a priest nor a Spaniard! Your escape must be celebrated! Just think—if the stone had fallen on you!”
“There is such a thing as a presentiment!” said the Notary. “I said so. Señor Ibarra was reluctant to descend. I saw it!”
“Let the festival go on! Give us some music! Weeping will not bring the dead man to life. Captain, serve warrants right here! Let the clerk of the tribunal come. Arrest the superintendent of the work!”
“Put him in the stocks!”
“Put him in the stocks! Eh? Some music, music! Put the maestrillo in the stocks.”
“Señor Alcalde,” replied Ibarra gravely, “if weeping cannot bring the dead man back to life, neither can anything be gained by putting a man in prison when we do not know that he is culpable. I will give bail for him and ask that he be given liberty for some days at least.”
“Well, well! But such a misfortune must not be repeated!”
All kinds of comments were circulating among the people. The theory that it was a miracle was already accepted. Father Salví, however, seemed to rejoice very little over the miracle, which the people attributed to a saint of his order and of his parish.
There were some who claimed to have seen, as the crane was falling, a figure dressed in black like the Franciscans, go down in the ditch. It was without doubt San Diego himself. It was supposed, too, that Ibarra had heard mass and that the yellow man had not. It was all as clear as the light of the sun.