The religious function ended hurriedly.  The Virgin Would forgive it, she should have a better solemnity next year; and all the authorities and invited guests left their seats to run in search of news to the archiepiscopal palace.

When Gabriel woke, past mid-day, every one in the upper cloister was talking of His Eminence’s health.  His brother inquired of the Aunt Tomasa who had just come from the palace.

“He is dying, my sons,” said the gardener’s widow; “he cannot escape from it.  Dona Visitacion signalled it to me from afar, weeping, poor thing!  He cannot be put to bed, for his chest is heaving like a broken bellows.  The doctors say he will not last till night.  What a misfortune!  And on a day like this!”

The agony of the ecclesiastical prince was received in funereal silence.  The women of the Claverias went backwards and forwards with news from the palace to the upper cloister; the children were shut up in the houses, frightened by their mothers’ threats if they attempted to play in the galleries.

The Chapel-master, who was generally indifferent to events in the Cathedral, went nevertheless to inquire of His Eminence’s condition.  He had a plan which he quickly explained to the family during dinner.  The funeral of a cardinal deserved the execution of a celebrated mass, with a full orchestra recruited in Madrid.  He had already cast his eyes on the famous Requiem of Mozart; that was the only reason for which he was interested in the prelate’s fate.

Gabriel, looking at his companion, felt the gentle selfishness that a living man feels when a great man dies.

“So the great fall, Sagrario, and we, the sickly and wretched, have still some life before us.”

At the hour of locking up the church he went down to begin his watch.  The bell-ringer was waiting for him with the keys.

“How about the Cardinal?” inquired Gabriel.

“He will certainly die to-day, if he is not already dead.”

And afterwards he added: 

“You will have a great illumination to-night, Gabriel.  The Virgin is on the high altar till to-morrow morning, surrounded by wax tapers.”

He was silent for a moment, as if undecided about Something.

“Possibly,” he added, “I may come down and keep you company a little.  You must be dull alone; expect me.”

When Gabriel was locked into the church, he caught sight of the high altar, resplendent with lights.  He made his usual trial of doors and railings; visited the Locum and the large lavoratories, where once some thieves had concealed themselves, and after he was quite certain that there was no human being in the church except himself, he seated himself in the crossways with his cloak round him, and his basket of supper.