im out of the
Cathedral; but he must not repeat this scandal. Silence! Let him keep
all those atrocities in his own head, if it so pleases him to lose his
soul; but in this holy house, and especially before its staff, not a
word. Do you understand? not a word. The next thing will be that he
will hold meetings in the Holy Metropolitan Church. Besides, your
brother must remember that, after all, at this moment, he is eating
the bread of the Church, as he lives on you, and is supported by you,
and it is not right to speak in this way of the most excellent work of
God, and try to point out all its defects."

This last consideration weighed the most with Gabriel, and it wounded
his dignity. Don Antolin said rightly, he was no more than a parasite
of the Cathedral, and having taken refuge in her lap, he owed her
gratitude and silence. He would keep silence. Had he not decided
when he took refuge there to live as one dead? He would live like an
animated corpse, which in some religious orders is the supreme of
human perfection. He would think like everyone else, or rather, he
would try not to think at all, but would simply vegetate there till
his last hour came, like the plants in the garden or the fungus on the
buttresses of the cloister.

The Cathedral servants seated themselves round the sewing machine,
hoping in vain that their master would come down, but content on the
whole, though they did not see him, to be near him, to look at his
empty seat, and to talk to the girl who expressed such ingenuous
admiration for her uncle's conversation. The Chapel-master was
delighted that Luna, his sole admirer, had returned to visit him;
during his temporary eclipse the poor musician had suffered all the
bitterness of solitude, despairing with almost infantile rage, as
though an immense audience had turned its back on him. He caressed
Gabriel as though he was the woman he loved, listening to his
coughing, and recommending all sorts of fantastic remedies imagined
by himself, uneasy at the progress of his malady and trembling at the
idea that death might tear from him his only listener.

He told Gabriel of all the music he had studied during his absence.
When the sick man coughed much, he would cease playing his harmonium,
and begin long talks with his friend, always on the subject of his
constant preoccupation, musical art.

"Gabriel," said the musician one evening; "you who are so keen an
observer, and who knows so much, has it ev