He lived in an atmosphere of aesthetic emotion which he quite mistook for
holiness. He was a dandy in the care of his Soul, and tricked himself out
to catch the eye of High Heaven.

The Marquis de Mogente was out. He had crossed the Plaza, the servant
thought to say a prayer in the Cathedral. On the suggestion of the
servant, the Sarrions decided to wait until Leon's return. The man, who
had the air of a murderer (or a Spanish Cathedral chorister), volunteered
to go and seek his master.

"I can say a prayer myself," he said humbly.

"And here is something to put in the poor-box," answered Sarrion with his
twisted smile.

"By my soul," he exclaimed, when they were left alone, "this place reeks
of hypocrisy."

He looked round the walls with a raised eyebrow.

"I have been trying to discover," he went on, "what was in the mind of
Francisco as he lay dying in that house in the Calle San Gregorio--what
he was trying to carry out--why he made that will. He sent for Leon, you
see, and must have seen at a glance that he had for a son--a mule, of the
worst sort. He probably saw that to leave money to Leon was to give it to
the Church, which meant that it would be spent for the further undoing of
Spain and the propagation of ignorance and superstition."

For Ramon de Sarrion was one of those good Spaniards and good Catholics
who lay the entire blame for the downfall of their country from its great