'Yes--yes! And persuade her to conciliate the Alcalde--to tell him
some story or another. It does not surely matter if it be not the
strict truth. Anything to get these men out of the house. My maid
Maria is so flighty. Ah--these young people! What a trial--my dear
Padre, what a trial!'

'Of course,' said Father Concha. 'But what a dull world it would be
if our neighbour knew how to manage his own affairs! Shall we go to
Julia?'

The perturbed lady preferred that the priest should see her daughter
alone. A military-looking individual in white trousers and a dark
green tunic stood guard over the door of Julia's apartment, seeking
by his attitude and the curl of his moustache to magnify his office
in the eyes of a maid who happened to have an unusual amount of
cleaning to do in that particular corridor.

'Ah!' said Father Concha, by no means abashed by the sentinel's
sword. 'Ah, it is you, Manuel. Your wife tells me you have
objections to the christening of that last boy of yours, number
five, I think. Bring number five on Sunday, after vespers--eh? You
understand--and a little something for the poor. It is pay day on
Saturday. And no more nonsense about religion, Manuel, eh?'

He shook his lean finger in the official's face and walked on
unchallenged.

'May I come in?' he said, tapping at the door; and Julia's voice
bade him enter.