As if this self-imposed obligation of sleeping on guard, ready to expose his skin in defense of his old-time patron broke the calm in which he had maintained himself until then, the peasant raised his eyes and clasped his hands.
"Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!
"The devil is let loose!" he repeated, "there will be no more peace; and all for not believing what I told you, for going against the current of old customs, which have been established by wiser people than those of the present day. And what is all this leading to?"
Febrer tried to reassure the peasant, and a thought escaped him which he had intended to keep concealed. Pèp might rejoice. He was going to leave forever, not wishing to disturb the peace of himself and family.
Ah! was the señor really going away? The peasant's joy was so keen, and his surprise so lively that Jaime hesitated. He seemed to see in the peasant's little eyes a certain malice. Did the islander imagine that his sudden determination was caused by fear of his enemies?
"I am going," he said, looking at Pèp with hostility, "but I am not sure when. Later—when it suits my convenience. I can't leave here until the man who is looking for me finds me."
Pèp made a gesture of resignation; his gladness vanished, but he was about to assent to these words also, adding that thus would his father have done, and thus he himself thought best.
When the peasant arose to take his leave, Febrer, who was standing near the door, saw the Little Chaplain by the farmhouse, and this recalled the boy's desire to his mind. If the request would not put Pèp out, he might let the youngster keep him company in the tower.
But the father received this suggestion with displeasure.
No, Don Jaime! If he needed company, here he was himself, a man! The boy must study. The devil was let loose, and it was high time to impose his authority so that order should be maintained in the family. Next week he intended taking him back to the Seminary. That was final.