We were going in a crowd to the Orphanage. Augustine, impelled no doubt by the beating of his heart, suddenly started as if to direct his steps towards the Plazuela San Felipe, following the great crowd hastening towards that place. But detained forcibly by his father he continued, though with bad grace, in our company. Something was certainly burning near the Torre Nueva, and on the tower the precious arabesques and bricks shone redly, because of the nearness of the fire. That graceful leaning column could be distinguished, crimson in the black night, and at the same time from its huge belfry a great lamentation fell upon the air.
We reached San Pablo.
“Go on, boys, loungers! Help those who are opening the ditch. It must be wide and deep. It is a garment wherein they will enrobe forty bodies.”
We began upon the work, digging earth from the ditch which was being opened in the court of the church. Augustine was digging with me, but at every instant he turned his eyes in the direction of the Torre Nueva.
“It is a terrible fire. It seems as if it is going down a little, Gabriel. I long to throw myself into this grave which we are opening.”
“Don’t be in a hurry,” I answered him. “Perhaps tomorrow will throw us into it without our asking. This is no time for foolishness; it is time to work.”
“Do you not see? I believe that the fire is extinguished.”
“Yes, the whole house has probably burned down. Candiola was sure to be shut up in his cellar with his money, and the fire couldn’t reach him. Don’t worry.”
“Gabriel, I must go there, if only for a moment. I wish to see if the fire was really in his house. If my father returns, tell him that I will be back in a second.”