t notice at the
time because of their harsh and insulting manner of referring to the
natives of the country. Basilio had no time to open them, and he was
perhaps restrained also by the thought that there is nothing pleasant
about receiving an insult or a provocation without having any means
of replying or defending oneself. The censorship, in fact, permitted
insults to the Filipinos but prohibited replies on their part.

In the midst of the silence that reigned in the house, broken only by
a feeble snore that issued now and then from the adjoining bedroom,
Basilio heard light footfalls on the stairs, footfalls that soon
crossed the hallway and approached the room where he was. Raising
his head, he saw the door open and to his great surprise appeared
the sinister figure of the jeweler Simoun, who since the scene in
San Diego had not come to visit either himself or Capitan Tiago.

"How is the sick man?" he inquired, throwing a rapid glance about the
room and fixing his attention on the pamphlets, the leaves of which
were still uncut.

"The beating of his heart is scarcely perceptible, his pulse is very
weak, his appetite entirely gone," replied Basilio in a low voice
with a sad smile. "He sweats profusely in the early morning."

Noticing that Simoun kept his face turned toward the pamphlets and
fearing that he might reopen the subject of their conversation in
the wood, he went on: "His system is saturated with poison. He may
die any day, as though struck by lightning. The least irritation,
any excitement may kill him."

"Like the Philippines!" observed Simoun lugubriously.

Basilio was unable to refrain from a gesture of impatience, but he
was determined not to recur to the old subject, so he proceeded as if
he had heard nothing: "What weakens him the most is the nightmares,
his terrors--"

"Like the government!" again interrupted Simoun.

"Several nights ago he awoke in the dark and thought that he had
gone blind. He raised a disturbance, lamenting and scolding me,
saying that I had put his eyes out. When I entered his room with a
light he mistook me for Padre Irene and called me his saviour."

"Like the government, exactly!"

"Last night," continued Basilio, paying no attention, "he got up
begging for his favorite game-cock, the one that died three years
ago, and I had to give him a chicken. Then he heaped blessings upon
me and promised me many thousands--"

At that instant a clock struck half-past ten. Si