The magistrate found this sincere expression of sisterly opinion most remarkable; still, notwithstanding that he took his seat beside her ladyship.
The table was piled with cold viands and old wines.
Her ladyship entertained the magistrate with conversation and tasty tit-bits, meanwhile the lawyer was quietly drinking his glasses with the host,—nor was it necessary to ask him to help himself.
"Believe me," remarked her ladyship: "if this man ever reaches hell, they will give him a special room, so great are his merits. I have already grown tired of trying to reform him."
"Has your ladyship been staying long in this house?" enquired the magistrate.
"Oh, ten years already."
("How old could the lady have been then?" the magistrate thought to himself: but he could not answer.)
"Just imagine what he does. A few days ago he put up an old saint among the vines as a scarecrow, with a broken hat on his head."
The magistrate turned with a movement of scorn towards the accused. It would not be good for him if that, too, came to the ears of the Court.
"Do not speak, for you do not understand what you're saying," replied Topándy by way of explanation. "It was an ugly statue of Pilate, a relic of the ancient Calvary."[34]