"How much I am going to pay?" repeated the young man without being able to conceal a bored expression. "We will talk that over. Come back this afternoon, for I am busy to-day." "Only tell me how much you are going to pay," insisted Lucas. "I have told you that we would talk about that some other time. I'm too busy to-day," said Ibarra, impatiently. "You haven't time now, señor?" asked Lucas with bitterness and putting himself in front of the young man. "You do not have time to occupy yourself about the dead?" "Come this afternoon, my good fellow!" repeated Ibarra, restraining himself. "To-day I have to go and see a sick person." "Ah! and you forget the dead for a sick person? Do you think that because we are poor----" Ibarra looked at him and cut off what he was saying. "Don't try my patience!" said he, and went on his way. Lucas stood looking at him, with a smile on his face, full of hatred. "You do not know that you are a grandson of the man who exposed my father to the sun!" he muttered between his teeth. "You have the very same blood in your veins!" And, changing his tone he added: "But if you pay well, we are friends." CHAPTER XXIV EPISODE IN ESPADAÑA'S LIFE. The festival was over. The citizens found, just as every year, that their treasury was poorer, that they had worked, perspired, and stayed up nights without enjoying themselves, without acquiring new friends, and in a word, had paid dearly for the noise and their headaches. But it did not matter. The next year they would do the same thing, and the same for the coming century, just as had always been the custom to the present time. Enough sadness reigned in Captain Tiago's house. All the windows were closed; the people scarcely made a noise, and no one dared to speak except in the kitchen. Maria Clara, the soul of the house, lay sick in her bed. "What do you think, Isabel? Shall I make a donation to the cross of Tunasan or to the cross of Matahong?" asked the solicitous father in a low voice. "The cross of Tunasan grows, but that of Matahong sweats. Which do you think is the most miraculous?" Isabel thought for a moment, moved her head and murmured: "To grow--to grow is more miraculous than to sweat. We all sweat, but we do not all grow." "That is true, yes, Isabel, but bear in mind that for wood to sweat when it is made into the leg of a chair is no small miracle. Well, the best thing to do is to give alms to both crosses, so that neither will feel resentful, and Maria Clara will recover more quickly. Are the rooms in good order? You know that a new señor comes with the doctors, a relative of Father Dámaso by marriage. It is necessary that nothing be lacking." The two cousins, Sinang and Victoria, were at the other end of the dining-room. They had come to keep company with the sick Maria. Andeng was helping them clean up a tea service in order to serve tea. "Do you know Doctor Espadaña?" asked Maria Clara's foster sister, directing her question to Victoria.