attention that he was annoyed, turned squarely around, and faced the
jeweler with a provoking stare.

"Well, what is the province like?" the latter asked, turning again
to Basilio.

"Why, aren't you familiar with it?"

"How the devil am I to know it when I've never set foot in it? I've
been told that it's very poor and doesn't buy jewels."

"We don't buy jewels, because we don't need them," rejoined Isagani
dryly, piqued in his provincial pride.

A smile played over Simoun's pallid lips. "Don't be offended, young
man," he replied. "I had no bad intentions, but as I've been assured
that nearly all the money is in the hands of the native priests, I
said to myself: the friars are dying for curacies and the Franciscans
are satisfied with the poorest, so when they give them up to the
native priests the truth must be that the king's profile is unknown
there. But enough of that! Come and have a beer with me and we'll
drink to the prosperity of your province."

The youths thanked him, but declined the offer.

"You do wrong," Simoun said to them, visibly taken aback. "Beer is a
good thing, and I heard Padre Camorra say this morning that the lack
of energy noticeable in this country is due to the great amount of
water the inhabitants drink."