A strange light shone in Dona Perfecta's eyes. The canon, experienced
though he was in dissimulation, could not conceal his joy.

"Yes, and perhaps this very night."

"Why, man, how impetuous you are; Why don't you at least wait until
morning? Here--Juan, let some one go for Uncle Licurgo to get the nag
ready. I suppose you will take some luncheon with you. Nicolasa, that
piece of veal that is on the sideboard! Librada, the senorito's linen."

"No, I cannot believe that you would take so rash a resolution,"
said Don Cayetano, thinking himself obliged to take some part in the
question.

"But you will come back, will you not?" asked the canon.

"At what time does the morning train pass?" asked Dona Perfecta, in
whose eyes was clearly discernible the feverish impatience of her
exaltation.

"I am going away to-night."

"But there is no moon."

In the soul of Dona Perfecta, in the soul of the Penitentiary, in the
little doctor's youthful soul echoed like a celestial harmony the word,
"To-night!"

"Of course, dear Pepe, you will come back. I wrote to-day to your
father, your excellent father," exclaimed Dona Perfecta, with all the