theology, and I never heard him talk of love. He is a chap who has Saint Thomas at his fingertips, and does not know in what part of their faces girls carry their eyes.”
“Augustine will sacrifice his beloved vocation for my sake. If we come out alive from the siege, and the Virgin del Pilar grants me life, I intend to marry him quickly to a woman who is his equal in position and fortune.”
While he was saying this, we saw Mariquilla Candiola approaching us, sobbing; on coming up to me she asked—
“Señor de Araceli, have you seen my father?”
“No, Señorita Doña Mariquilla,” I answered, “I have not seen him since yesterday. It may be that he is in the ruins of his house, busying himself trying to get something out.”
“No, he is not,” said Mariquilla, anxiously; “I have looked for him everywhere.”
“Have you been over back here, near San Diego? Señor Candiola sometimes goes to look at his house los Duendes, to see if it has been destroyed.”
“I am going there instantly!”
As she disappeared, Montoria said, “She is, I am told, the daughter of the miser Candiola. Faith, she’s very pretty, and does not look like the daughter of such a wolf—God forgive me, I mean good man.”
“She’s not bad looking,” said the friar; “but I imagine she’s a good one. Saints don’t come of Candiola timber.”
“One must not speak ill of one’s neighbor,” said Don José.