crossed the street and entered the staircase of the tower. The steps
were of red brick, worn and broken; the whitewashed walls were covered
on all sides with grotesque drawings and various inscriptions,
scrawled by those who had ascended the tower, attracted by the fame of
the big bell.

Gabriel went up slowly, gasping, and stopping at every step.

"I am ill, Esteban, very ill; these bellows let out the wind in every
part."

Then, as though repenting his forgetfulness, he suddenly asked:

"And Pepa, your wife? I hope she is all right."

The brows of the Cathedral servant contracted, and his eyes became
bright as though full of tears.

"She died," he said with laconic sadness.

Gabriel stopped suddenly, clinging to the handrail, struck with
surprise; then, after a short silence, he went on, wishing to console
his brother.

"But, Sagrario, my niece, she must have grown a beauty. The last time
I saw her she looked like a queen, with her crown of auburn hair and
her smiling face, with its golden bloom, like a ripe apricot. Did she
marry the cadet, or is she still with you?"

The "Wooden Staff" appeared even more sad, and he looked grimly at his