somewhat absent-minded. My thoughts and my attention were engaged
with the architecture of the building and, frankly speaking, I did not
observe----But this was no reason for the bishop to think of putting me
out of the church, nor for you to suppose me capable of attributing to
a paper from the apothecary's the functions of the soul. I may tolerate
that as a jest, but only as a jest."

The agitation of Pepe Rey's mind was so great that, notwithstanding his
natural prudence and moderation, he was unable to conceal it.

"There! I see that you are angry," said Dona Perfecta, casting down her
eyes and clasping her hands. "I am very sorry. If I had known that you
would have taken it in that way, I should not have spoken to you. Pepe,
I ask your pardon."

Hearing these words and seeing his kind aunt's deprecating attitude,
Pepe felt ashamed of the sternness of his last words, and he made an
effort to recover his serenity. The venerable Penitentiary extricated
him from his embarrassing position, saying with his accustomed
benevolent smile:

"Senora Dona Perfecta, we must be tolerant with artists. Oh, I have
known a great many of them! Those gentlemen, when they have before them
a statue, a piece of rusty armor, a mouldy painting, or an old wall,
forget every thing else. Senor Don Jose is an artist, and he has visited
our cathedral as the English visit it, who would willingly carry it away
with them to their museums, to its last tile, if they could. That the
worshippers were praying, that the priest was elevating the Sacred Host,
that the moment of supreme piety and devotion had come--what of that?
What does all that matter to an artist? It is true that I do not know