"What has she done? Didn't you hear the noise she made?" said the guardian of public tranquillity. The leper took up his basket and vanished. Maria Clara asked to go home. She had lost all her gayety. Her sadness increased when, arrived at her door, her fiance refused to go in. "It must be so to-night," he said as he bade her good-by. Maria, mounting the steps, thought how tiresome were fete days, when one must receive so many strangers. The next evening a little perfumed note came to Ibarra by the hand of Andeng, Maria's foster sister. "Crisostomo, for a whole day I have not seen you. They tell me you are ill. I have lighted two candles and prayed for you. I'm so tired of being asked to play and dance. I did not know there were so many tiresome people in the world. If Father Damaso had not tried to amuse me with stories, I should have left them all and gone away to sleep. Write me how you are, and if I shall send papa to see you. I send you Andeng now to make your tea; she will do it better than your servants. If you don't come to-morrow, I shall not go to the ceremony. Maria Clara." XXIV. IN THE CHURCH. The orchestras sounded the reveille at the first rays of the sun, waking with joyous airs the tired inhabitants of the pueblo. It was the last day of the fete--indeed, the fete itself. Every one expected much more than on the eve, when the Brothers of the Sacred Rosary had had their sermon and procession; for the Brothers of the Third Order were more numerous, and counted on humiliating their rivals. The Chinese candle merchants had reaped a rich harvest. Everybody put on his gala dress; all the jewels came out of their coffers; the fops and sporting men wore rows of diamond buttons on their shirt fronts, heavy gold chains, and white jipijapa hats, as the Indians call Panamas. No one but old Tasio was in everyday costume. "You seem even sadder than usual," the lieutenant said to him. "Because we have so many reasons to weep, may we not laugh once in a while?" "Yes, laugh, but not play the fool! It's the same insane orgy every year, the same waste of money when there's so much need and so much suffering! But I see! It's the orgy, the bacchanal, that is to still the lamentations of the poor!" "You know I share your opinion," said Don Filipo, half serious, half laughing, "and that I defended it; but what can I do against the gobernadorcillo and the curate?" "Resign!" cries the irate old man, leaving him. "Resign!" muttered Don Filipo, going on toward the church. "Resign? Yes, certainly, if my post were an honor and not a charge."