oped in his cloak, as before, and without speaking
a word. When the confession was ended Don Inocencio said to the wretched
girl:

"Are you sure that the person who came into and went out of the house
was Senor Pinzon?"

The culprit answered nothing, but her features expressed the utmost
perplexity.

Her mistress turned green with anger.

"Did you see his face?"

"But who else could it be but he?" answered the maid. "I am certain that
it was he. He went straight to his room--he knew the way to it perfectly
well."

"It is strange," said the canon. "Living in the house there was no
need for him to use such mystery. He might have pretended illness and
remained in the house. Does it not seem so to you, senora?"

"Librada," exclaimed the latter, in a paroxysm of anger, "I vow that you
shall go to prison."

And clasping her hands, she dug the nails of the one into the other with
such force as almost to draw blood.

"Senor Don Inocencio," she exclaimed, "let us die--there is no remedy
but to die."

Then she burst into a fit of inconsolable weeping.

"Courage, senora," said the priest, in a moved voice. "Courage--now it
is necessary to be very brave. This requires calmness and a great deal
of courage.

"Mine is immense," said Senora de Polentinos, in the midst of her sobs.

"Mine is very small," said the canon; "but we shall see, we shall see."

CHAPTER XXIV

THE CONFESSION

Meanwhile Rosario--with her heart torn and bleeding, unable to shed
tears, unable to be at peace or rest, transpierced by grief as by a
sharp sword, with her thoughts passing swiftly from the world to God and
from God to the world, bewildered and half-crazed, her hands clasped,
her bare feet resting on the floor--was kneeling, late in the evening,
in her own room, beside her bed, on the edge of which she rested her
burning forehead, in darkness, in solitude, and in silence. She was
careful not to make the slightest noise, in order not to attract the
attention of her mother, who was asleep, or seemed to be asleep, in the
adjoining room. She lifted up her distracted thoughts to Heaven in this
form:

"Lord, my God, why is it that before I did not know how to lie, and now
I know? Why did I not know before how to deceive, and now I deceive? Am
I a vile woman? Is this that I feel, is this that is happening to me,
a fall from which there can be no arising? Have I ceased to be virtuous
and good? I do not recognize myself. Is it I or is i