"I knew him
well and can say that he was one of the worthiest and most honorable
men in the Philippines."

"Sir," replied Ibarra, deeply moved, "the praise you bestow upon my
father removes my doubts about the manner of his death, of which I,
his son, am yet ignorant."

The eyes of the old soldier filled with tears and turning away hastily
he withdrew. The young man thus found himself alone in the center
of the room. His host having disappeared, he saw no one who might
introduce him to the young ladies, many of whom were watching him
with interest. After a few moments of hesitation he started toward
them in a simple and natural manner.

"Allow me," he said, "to overstep the rules of strict etiquette. It
has been seven years since I have been in my own country and upon
returning to it I cannot suppress my admiration and refrain from
paying my respects to its most precious ornaments, the ladies."

But as none of them ventured a reply, he found himself obliged to
retire. He then turned toward a group of men who, upon seeing him
approach, arranged themselves in a semicircle.

"Gentlemen," he addressed them, "it is a custom in Germany,
when a stranger finds himself at a function and there is no one to
introduce him to those present, that he give his name and so introduce
himself. Allow me to adopt this usage here, not to introduce foreign
customs when our own are so beautiful, but because I find myself driven
to it by necessity. I have already paid my respects to the skies and
to the ladies of my native land; now I wish to greet its citizens,
my fellow-countrymen. Gentlemen, my name is Juan Crisostomo Ibarra
y Magsalin."

The others gave their names, more or less obscure, and unimportant
here.

"My name is A----," said one youth dryly, as he made a slight bow.

"Then I have the honor of addressing the poet whose works have done
so much to keep up my enthusiasm for my native land. It is said that
you do not write any more, but I could not learn the reason."

"The reason? Because one does not seek inspiration in order to debase
himself and lie. One writer has been imprisoned for having put a
very obvious truth into verse. They may have called me a poet but
they sha'n't call me a fool."

"And may I enquire what that truth was?"

"He said that the lion's son is also a lion. He came very near to being
exiled for it," replied the strange youth, moving away from the group.

A man with a smiling face, dressed in the