"Did I not tell you so, one and a thousand times, my good Doña Baltasara,—did I not tell you so? There is some mystery in all this. Listen. What! Did you not attend Mass last night? Anyway, I presume you know what occurred. Why, it is the talk of Seville to-day. The archbishop is furious, and with good reason. Think of his having missed the Mass at Santa Inés,—of his not having witnessed the miracle; and all for what, pray? That he might sit and listen to a perfect charivari; for according to those who were present and who told me of it, the new organist's playing was nothing else. But I said so all the time. That squint-eye never could have played the music we heard together last Christmas Eve at Santa Inés. It was a lie! That music came from another soul. There is a mystery in all this, my dear,—a mystery, believe me."
Yes, and so there was. A deep mystery, a beautiful mystery, which was the soul of Maese Pérez.
THE TORN CLOAK.
From the French
of Maxime du Camp.