"Yes, he was good," replied the old woman; "but he went to Europe, and those who go to Europe come back heretics, the curates say." "Oho!" said the husband, taking his advantage. "And the curate, and all the curates, and the archbishop, and the pope, aren't they all Spaniards? What? And are they heretics?" Happily for Sister Puta, the conversation was cut short. A servant came running, pale and horror-stricken. "A man hung--in our neighbor's garden!" she gasped. A man hung! Nobody stirred. "Let's come and see," said the old man, rising. "Don't go near him," cried Sister Puta, "'twill bring us misfortune. If he's hung, so much the worse for him!" "Let me see him, woman. You, Juan, go and inform them at the tribunal; he may not be dead." And the old man went off, the women, even Sister Puta, following at a distance, full of fear, but also of curiosity. Hanging from the branch of a sandal tree in the garden a human body met their gaze. The brave man examined it. "We must wait for the authorities; he's been dead a long time," he said. Little by little the women drew near. "It's the new neighbor," they whispered. "See the scar on his face?" In half an hour the authorities arrived. "People are in a great hurry to die!" said the directorcillo, cocking his pen behind his ear, and he began his investigation. Meanwhile a peasant wearing a great salakat on his head and having his neck muffled was examining the body and the cord. He noticed several evidences that the man was dead before he was hung. The curious countryman noticed also that the clothing seemed recently torn and was covered with dust. "What are you looking at?" demanded the directorcillo, who had gathered all his evidence. "I was looking, senor, to see if I knew him," stammered the man, half uncovering, in which he managed to lower his salakat even farther over his eyes. "But didn't you hear that it is a certain Jose? You must be asleep!" Everybody laughed. The confused countryman stammered something else and went away. When he had reached a safe distance, he took off his disguise and resumed the stature and gait of Elias. XLIX. VAE VICTIS. With threatening air the guards marched back and forth before the door of the town hall, menacing with the butt of their rifles intrepid small boys, who came and raised themselves on tiptoe to see through the gratings. The court room had not the same appearance as the day of the discussion of the fete. The guards and the cuadrilleros spoke low; the alferez paced the room, looking angrily at the door from time to time. In a corner yawned Dona Consolacion, her steely eyes riveted on the door leading into the prison. The arm-chair under the picture of His Majesty was empty. It was almost nine o'clock when the curate arrived. "Well," said the alferez, "you haven't kept us waiting!" "I did not wish to be here," said the curate, ignoring the tone of the alferez. "I am very nervous."