The Perrero was silent for a few moments as though he were doubtful about saying something serious.
"The lady is very good and kind. They all love her in the palace because she speaks so gently. Besides, she makes use of the great power she has over the cardinal to prevent the violence of His Eminence, who very often, when he is racked with excessive pain, would throw cups and plates at the heads of his servants. Why should they interfere with her? Does she do them any harm? Let everyone do as he likes in his own house, and he who does evil, let God punish him."
He scratched his head as though he were once more doubtful.
"And as to what Doña Visita is to the Cardinal," he added, "I have no doubt whatever. I have facts to go on, uncle, and I know how they live. One of the servants has often seen them kissing—that is to say, not the two kissing. No, she does the kissing, and Don Sebastian receives her kittenish ways with the smile of an angel. The poor man is so old!"
And the Tato ended his confidences with various indecent remarks.
All this grumbling against the cardinal, that came from the sacristy up to the cloister, annoyed Gabriel's brother greatly. The "Wooden Staff," who was a staunch private soldier of the Church, could not bear to hear with equanimity those attacks on his superiors; in his opinion they were all calumnies. The canons had spoken of all the preceding archbishops precisely as they now spoke of Don Sebastian, but this did not in the least prevent their all being called saints after their deaths. When he discovered the Tato repeating in the Claverias all the gossip from down below, he threatened him with all his authority as head of the house.
Esteban was also very much concerned at the state of his brother's health. He was pleased at the very prudent behaviour of the latter, who conformed with silent respect to all the customs of the Cathedral, never permitting a word to escape him that could reveal his past; he felt beyond measure proud of the atmosphere of admiration that surrounded his brother, and the attention with which the simple inhabitants of the cloister listened to the account of his travels, but the state of his health was a continual anxiety, the certainty that death had laid its hand upon him, and that it was solely the care with which he was surrounded that retarded the fatal moment.
There were days in which the Silenciario smiled with pleasure, seeing Gabriel a better colour, and hearing less frequently his painful cough.
"You are going on well, brother," he would say joyfully.
"Yes," replied Gabriel, "but do not have any illusions. That will come at its own hour, it has me in its grasp. It is only you who are holding it back, but one day it will be stronger than you."