gave him
all her attention as he walked by her side escorting the ladies out of
the room. Finally all three passed unnoticed through the glass doors in
the gallery. Only a tall priest stalking silently in the noise of the
sala checked himself to look after them. Father Corbelan, whom Decoud
had seen from the balcony turning into the gateway of the Casa
Gould, had addressed no one since coming in. The long, skimpy soutane
accentuated the tallness of his stature; he carried his powerful torso
thrown forward; and the straight, black bar of his joined eyebrows, the
pugnacious outline of the bony face, the white spot of a scar on the
bluish shaven cheeks (a testimonial to his apostolic zeal from a
party of unconverted Indians), suggested something unlawful behind his
priesthood, the idea of a chaplain of bandits.

He separated his bony, knotted hands clasped behind his back, to shake
his finger at Martin.

Decoud had stepped into the room after Antonia. But he did not go far.
He had remained just within, against the curtain, with an expression of
not quite genuine gravity, like a grown-up person taking part in a game
of children. He gazed quietly at the threatening finger.

"I have watched your reverence converting General Barrios by a special
sermon on the Plaza," he said, without making the slightest movement.

"What miserable nonsense!" Father Corbelan's deep voice resounded all
over the room, making all the heads turn on the shoulders. "The man is a
drunkard. Senores, the God of your General is a bottle!"

His contemptuous, arbitrary voice caused an uneasy suspension of every
sound, as if the self-confidence of the gathering had been staggered by
a blow. But nobody took up Father Corbelan's declaration.

It was known that Father Corbelan had come out of the wilds to advocate
the sacred rights of the Church with the same fanatical fearlessness
with which he had gone preaching to bloodthirsty savages, devoid
of human compassion or worship of any kind. Rumours of legendary
proportions told of his successes as a missionary beyond the eye of
Christian men. He had baptized whole nations of Indians, living with
them like a savage himself. It was related that the padre used to ride
with his Indians for days, half naked, carrying a bullock-hide shield,
and, no doubt, a long lance, too--who knows? That he had wandered
clothed in skins, seeking for proselytes somewhere near the snow line of
the Cordillera. Of these exploits P