“They are all going to end as they merit,” he continued. “The hand of God is upon them and one must be blind not to see it. Even in this life, the fathers of such vipers receive their punishment.... They die in prison, eh?”
But he did not finish his remarks. Ibarra, his face flushing, had been following him with his eyes. On hearing the allusion to his father, he rose and, with a single bound, brought down his strong hand on the head of the priest. Stunned with the blow, the friar fell on his back.
Full of astonishment and terror, no one dared to intervene.
“Keep back!” cried the young man, with a menacing voice, and brandishing a sharp knife in his hand. In the meantime, he held the friar down with his foot on his neck. The latter was recovering consciousness. “Let no one approach who does not want to die!”
Ibarra was beside himself. His body trembled, and his threatening eyes almost burst from their sockets. Friar Dámaso struggled and raised himself, but the young man, seizing him by the collar, shook him till he fell on his knees and collapsed.
“Señor Ibarra! Señor Ibarra!” cried some.
But nobody, not even the alferez, dared to approach the glistening blade, considering the strength of the young man and the state of his mind. All were paralyzed.
“All of you people here have said nothing! Now the matter concerns me! I have avoided him. God now brings him to me. Let God judge!”
The young man was breathing hard. With iron hand he held the Franciscan down, and the latter struggled in vain to break loose.
“My heart beats tranquilly. My hand is sure.”