the church, to enforce silence.

Just then a man of unpleasant face, thin, bony, and cross-eyed too, pushed
up to the place where the archbishop was sitting.

"Maese Perez is sick," he said; "the ceremony cannot begin. If you see
fit, I will play the organ in his absence. Maese Perez is not the best
organist in the world, nor need this instrument be left unused after his
death for lack of any one able to play it."

The archbishop nodded his head in assent, although some of the faithful,
who had already recognized in that strange person an envious rival of the
organist of Santa Ines, were breaking out in cries of displeasure.
Suddenly a surprising noise was heard in the portico.

"Maese Perez is here! Maese Perez is here!"

At this shout, coming from those jammed in by the door, every one looked
around.

Maese Perez, pale and feeble, was in fact entering the church, brought in
a chair which all were quarrelling for the honor of carrying upon their
shoulders.

The commands of the physicians, the tears of his daughter--nothing had
been able to keep him in bed.

"No," he had said; "this is the last one, I know it. I know it, and I do
not want to die without visiting my organ again, this night above all,
this Christmas Eve. Come, I desire it, I order it; come, to the church!"