At that precise moment Consuelo was facing her father in his study. Don Anabel’s voice was shaken. “You mean, Consuelo, that you actually saw Luis hand a long object like this”--he held up the rolled canvas which he had not yet had time to restore to its frame--“out the window to some other waiting there?” “Precisely, papa. I would swear it was that. I have told you exactly. In justice to Señor Estevan. I think Luis has been protected long enough.” “It is as I feared,” Don Anabel muttered. “But I did not think, I really did not think, that Luis would have stooped to such an act; that he could be led to this. _Ingrato!_ It is fortunate indeed that no word of this has gotten through Santa Fe.” He felt peculiarly humbled, and at the mercy of this young American who might so easily put his son to public shame. Don Anabel lashed himself into a proud fury. Consuelo drew herself up on tiptoe with her hands on his shoulders and kissed him tenderly. “See, papa, you have the Murillo back again now. And it is Ess-tevan who has thus served you, even after he had been thrown in the _carcel_ and attacked. It is done and over. Let us forget. Luis will have learned his lesson.” “I could never forget.” Don Anabel shook his head angrily. “My son!” * * * * * Supper had been brilliant. Lupe had done herself proud with the dishes. Everyone was in sparkling humor. Don Anabel because the Murillo once more glowed richly from its frame against the whitewashed wall, Doña Gertrudis because Don Anabel was pleased. It was Sunday, a feast day, and the Lenten fast was therefore broken for the week with several kinds of meat and game, with sweets, fresh water cress, and coffee that caused Doña Gertrudis to sigh in ecstasy. Consuelo was _echando rayos_, (throwing out sparks), as the saying went. Steven was likewise in glowing humor. He was the lion of the occasion. He had been pressed until he had told and retold the adventures of his trip south and what befell him on the road back. But of the fraile and his story of the painting not a word was said; Don Anabel had heard all that the evening before, and had told his family, presumably, for the subject was tacitly and widely avoided by all. Luis alone was not one with the merry company about the table. He was quite different from his old, teasing, swaggering self. Preoccupied, self-centered still, he nevertheless hung nervously upon his father’s words. He gave a grave attention to Steven’s talk, was courteously, cooly attentive. He ate little, and drank not at all. Consuelo herself wondered what had come over Luis.