That she might not hear the rejoicing going on outside, she ordered the windows to be closed, and charged the sentry not to permit any one to enter. She tied a handkerchief around her head to prevent it from bursting; and, in spite of the fact that the sun was still shining brightly, she ordered the lamps lighted. A madwoman who had been detained for disturbing the public peace was taken to the barracks. The alferez was not there at the time and the unhappy woman had to pass the night seated on a bench. The following day the alferez returned. Fearing lest the unhappy woman should become the butt of the crowd during the fiesta, he ordered the soldiers who were guarding her to treat her with pity and give her something to eat. Thus the demented woman passed two days. Whether the proximity to Captain Tiago's house made it possible for the sad song of Maria Clara to reach her ears, whether other strains of music awoke in her memories of old songs, or whether there was some other cause for it, at any rate, the madwoman began that night to sing with a sweet and melancholy voice the songs of her youth. The soldiers heard her and kept silent. Those songs brought back memories of the old times. Doña Consolacion also heard it in her sorrow, and became interested in the person who was singing. "Tell her to come upstairs at once!" she ordered, after some seconds of meditation. Something like a smile passed over her dry lips. They brought the woman and she presented herself without any discomposure, and without manifesting either fear or surprise. "Orderly, tell this woman in Tagalog to sing!" said the alfereza. "She don't understand me; she does not know Spanish." The demented woman understood the orderly and sang the song "Night." Doña Consolacion listened to the beginning with a mocking smile which disappeared gradually from her lips. She became attentive, then more serious and pensive. The woman's voice, the sentiment of the verses and the song itself impressed her. That dry and burning heart was perhaps softened. She understood the song well: "Sadness, cold, and dampness, wrapped in the mantle of Night descend from the sky," as the folk song puts it. It seemed that they were also descending upon her heart. "The withered flower which during the day has paraded its dress, desirous of applause and full of vanity, at nightfall repenting, makes an effort to raise its faded petals to the sky, and begs for a little shade in which to hide itself, so as to die without the mockery of the light which saw it in its pomp, to die without the vanity of its pride being seen, and begging for a drop of dew, to weep over it. The night bird, leaving its solitary retreat in the hollow of the old tree, disturbs the melancholy of the forests...." "No, no! Do not sing!" exclaimed the alfereza in perfect Tagalog and raising to her feet somewhat agitated. "Don't sing! Those verses hurt me!"