titor, and this is
far from being the desire of such peaceful folk as we have the good
fortune to be.

Afterwards, the procession moved on, St. John proceeding along his
vale of tears. When the Virgin passed the house of Capitan Tiago a
heavenly song greeted her with the words of the archangel. It was
a voice tender, melodious, pleading, sighing out the _Ave Maria_
of Gounod to the accompaniment of a piano that prayed with it. The
music of the procession became hushed, the praying ceased, and even
Padre Salvi himself paused. The voice trembled and became plaintive,
expressing more than a salutation--rather a prayer and a protest.

Terror and melancholy settled down upon Ibarra's heart as he listened
to the voice from the window where he stood. He comprehended what
that suffering soul was expressing in a song and yet feared to ask
himself the cause of such sorrow. Gloomy and thoughtful, he turned
to the Captain-General.

"You will join me at the table," the latter said to him. "There we'll
talk about those boys who disappeared."

"Could I be the cause?" murmured the young man, staring without seeing
the Captain-General, whom he was following mechanically.

CHAPTER XXXIX

Dona Consolacion

Why were the windows closed in the house of the alferez? Where
were the masculine features and the flannel camisa of the Medusa or
Muse of the Civil Guard while the procession was passing? Had Dona
Consolacion realized how disagreeable were her forehead seamed with
thick veins that appeared to conduct not blood but vinegar and gall,
and the thick cigar that made a fit ornament for her purple lips,
and her envious leer, and yielding to a generous impulse had she
wished not to disturb the pleasure of the populace by her sinister
appearance? Ah, for her generous impulses existed in the Golden
Age! The house, showed neither lanterns nor banners and was gloomy
precisely because the town was making merry, as Sinang said, and but
for the sentinel walking before the door appeared to be uninhabited.

A dim light shone in the disordered sala, rendering transparent
the dirty concha-panes on which the cobwebs had fastened and the
dust had become incrusted. The lady of the house, according to
her indolent custom, was dozing on a wide sofa. She was dressed as
usual, that is, badly and horribly: tied round her head a panuelo,
from beneath which escaped thin locks of tangled hair, a camisa
of blue flannel over another which must once