“This is a nice condition of things!” said Remedios, exhaling half her soul in a sigh.  “I cannot get out of my head the idea of the tribulation in which Senora Dona Perfecta finds herself.  Uncle, you ought to go there.”

“Go there to-night?  The military are parading the streets!  Imagine that some insolent soldier should take it into his head to——­The senora is well protected.  The other day they searched the house and they carried off the six armed men she had there; but afterward they sent them back to her.  We have no one to protect us in case of an attack.”

“I sent Jacinto to the senora’s, to keep her company for a while.  If Caballuco comes, we will tell him to stop in there, too.  No one can put it out of my head but that those rascals are plotting some piece of villany against our friend.  Poor senora, poor Rosarito!  When one thinks that this might have been avoided by what I proposed to Dona Perfecta two days ago——­”

“My dear niece,” said the Penitentiary phlegmatically, “we have done all that it was in human power to do to carry out our virtuous purpose.  More we cannot do.  Convince yourself of this, and do not be obstinate.  Rosarito cannot be the wife of our idolized Jacintillo.  Your golden dream, your ideal of happiness, that at one time seemed attainable, and to which like a good uncle, I devoted all the powers of my understanding, has become chimerical, has vanished into smoke.  Serious obstructions, the wickedness of a man, the indubitable love of the girl, and other things, regarding which I am silent, have altered altogether the condition of affairs.  We were in a fair way to conquer, and suddenly we are conquered.  Ah, niece! convince yourself of one thing.  As matters are now, Jacinto deserves something a great deal better than that crazy girl.”

“Caprices and obstinate notions!” responded Maria, with an ill-humor that was far from respectful.  “That’s a pretty thing to say now, uncle!  The great minds are outshining themselves, now.  Dona Perfecta with her lofty ideas, and you with your doubts and fears—­of much use either of you is.  It is a pity that God made me such a fool and gave me an understanding of brick and mortar, as the senora says, for if that wasn’t the case I would soon settle the question.”

“You?”

“If she and you had allowed me, it would be settled already.”

“By the beating?”

“There’s no occasion for you to be frightened or to open your eyes like that.  There is no question of killing any body.  What an idea!”

“Beating,” said the canon, smiling, “is like scratching—­when one begins one doesn’t know when to leave off.”

“Bah! say too that I am cruel and blood-thirsty.  I wouldn’t have the courage to kill a fly; it’s not very likely that I should desire the death of a man.”