their unspeakable harmonies elevate the soul to the celestial
spheres of the infinite and of the ideal...."

"Your Excellency is a poet," said the Notary gayly; and both drained
their wine glasses.

"I cannot help it," said the Alcalde, wiping his lips. "The occasion,
if it does not always make the thief, makes the poet. In my youth I
composed verses, and they certainly were not bad ones."

"So Your Excellency has been unfaithful to the Muses, deserting them
for Themis."

"Psh!" What would you do? It has always been my dream to run
through the whole social scale. Yesterday I was gathering flowers,
and singing songs; to-day I hold the wand of Justice and serve
Humanity. To-morrow...."

"To-morrow Your Excellency will throw the wand into the fire to warm
yourself with it in the winter of life, and will then take a portfolio
in the Ministry," added Father Sibyla.

"Psh! Yes ... no.... To be a Minister is not precisely my ideal. The
unexpected always happens, though. A little villa in the north of
Spain to pass the summer in, a mansion in Madrid, and some possessions
in Andalusia for the winter.... We will live remembering our dear
Philippines.... Of me Voltaire will not say: 'Nous n'avons jamais
ete chez ces peuples que pour nous y enrichir et pour les calomnier.'"

The Government employees thought that His Excellency intended a joke
and they began to laugh to make a show of appreciating it. The friars
imitated them since they did not know that Voltaire was the Volta-i-re
whom they had so often cursed and condemned to Hades. Father Sibyla,
however, recognized the name and assumed a serious air, supposing
that the Alcalde had uttered some heresy.

Father Damaso was waddling down the road. He was half smiling, but in
such a malignant manner, that on seeing him, Ibarra, who was in the
act of speaking, lost the thread of his remarks. All were surprised to
see Father Damaso, but, excepting Ibarra, they greeted him with marks
of pleasure. They had already reached the last course of the dinner,
and the champagne was foaming in the glasses.

Father Damaso showed a little nervousness in his smile when he saw
Maria Clara seated on the right of Crisostomo. But, taking a chair
by the side of the Alcalde, he asked in the midst of a significant
silence: "Were you not talking about something, senores? Continue!"

"We were drinking a toast," replied the Alcalde. "Senor Ibarra was
mentioning those who had aided him in his phil