Everyone in the cloister knew of these quarrels, and the remarks that the canons allowed themselves to make in the sacristy reached their ears; but these humble servitors kept silence when these murmurs were repeated in their presence, fearing to be reported by their neighbour, who possibly might covet their post.  It was the terror of the Inquisition still alive amidst this little stagnant world.

The Perrero was the only one who seemed to have no fear, and who spoke openly about the Chapter and the cardinal.  What did it matter to him!  Possibly he may have wished to be turned out of “that den” to give himself up to his favourite pursuit, going to the bull-ring without any objections from the household.  Moreover, he delighted in speaking evil of the gentlemen of the Chapter, who had given him more than one cuff when he was an acolyte.

He gave nicknames to all the canons, and pointing them out one by one to Gabriel, related the most intimate secrets of their lives.  He knew the houses where each prebendary passed the evening after the choir time, and the names of all the ladies and nuns who crimped their surplices, and could tell of the fierce and deadly rivalries between these admirers of the Chapter, endeavouring to vanquish each other by the exquisite way in which they washed and ironed the canonical batiste.  As the choir were coming out he pointed out the precentor, an obese prebendary with his face covered with red spots.

“Look at him, uncle,” he said to Gabriel, “that rash on his face is a record of the past.  He was a great gallant, never fixing himself long anywhere.  The other evening he said to a chaplain of the chapel of the kings, ’Those captain professors at the Academy think that in point of women they cull the best in Toledo, but where is the Church!  The seculars must lower their flag!’”

He laughed as he pointed out a group of young priests, carefully shaved, with their cheeks blue and shining, dressed in silk mantles that diffused a strong scent of musk as they moved.  These were the dandies of the Chapter, the young canons, who often made journeys to Madrid to confess their patronesses—­ancient marchionesses who, by dint of influence, had gained for them a seat in the choir.  At the Puerta del Mollete they stopped a few moments to arrange the folds of their cloaks before they went into the street.

“They are going out to court the ladies,” said the Tato.  “Brrrum! make way for Don Juan Tenorio!”

When they had watched all the canons come out, the Perrero spoke to his uncle about the cardinal.

“In these days he is given over to the fiends.  No one in the palace can manage him; his internal complaint nearly drives him mad.”

“But is it true he is so very ill?” asked Gabriel.

“Everyone says so; ask your Aunt Tomasa.  They say they are such great friends because she makes a lotion that calms him like an angel’s hand.  In the morning when he wakes in a bad temper all the palace trembles, and very soon all the diocese.  He is a good man, but when the mad dog bites him everyone must fly.  I have seen him on pontifical days wearing his mitre, looking at us with such eyes, as though he were ready to seize his crozier and belabour us all with it, from what the aunt says—­if he did not drink!”