He looked at her keenly, and she turned to the window, which was open to admit the breath of violets and other flowers of the spring. She shrugged her shoulders and gave a sharp sigh. ‘See here, my child,’ said Padre Concha abruptly. ‘For reasons which concern no one, I take a great interest in your happiness. You resemble some one whose welfare was once more important to me than my own. That was long ago, and I now consider myself first, as all wise men should. I am your friend, Julia, and much too old to be over-scrupulous. I peep and pry into my neighbours’ affairs, and I am uneasy about you, my child.’ He shook his head and drummed upon the table with his dirty fingers. ‘Thank you,’ answered the girl with her defiant little laugh, ‘but I can manage my own affairs.’ The priest nodded reflectively. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It is natural that you should say that. One of the chief blessings of youth is self confidence. Heaven forbid that I should shake yours. But, you see, there are several people who happen to be anxious that this little affair should blow over and be forgotten. The Alcalde is a mule, we know that, and anything that serves to magnify himself and his office is likely to be prolonged. Do not play into his hand. As I tell you, there are some who wish to forget this incident, and one of them is coming to see you this afternoon.’ ‘Ah!’ said the girl indifferently. ‘General Vincente.’ Julia changed colour and her eyelids flickered for a moment as she looked out of the open window. ‘A good friend,’ continued Concha, ‘but—’ He finished the phrase with an eloquent little gesture of the hand. At this moment they both heard the sound of an approaching carriage. ‘He is coming now,’ said Concha. ‘He is driving, so Estella is with him.’ ‘Estella is of course jealous.’ The priest looked at her with a slow wise smile and said nothing. ‘She—’ began Julia, and then closed her lips—true to that _esprit de sexe_ which has ruled through all the ages. Then Julia Barenna gave a sharp sigh as her mind reverted from Estella’s affairs to her own. Sitting thus in silence, the two occupants of the quiet room heard the approach of steps and the clink of spurs in the corridor. ‘It is the reverendo who visits the señorita,’ they heard the voice of the sentinel explain deprecatingly. The priest rose and went to the door, which he opened. ‘Only as a friend,’ he said. ‘Come in, General.’ General Vincente entered the room followed by Estella. He nodded to Concha and kissed his niece affectionately. ‘Still obdurate?’ he said, with a semi-playful tap on her shoulder. ‘Still obdurate? My dear Julia, in peace and war the greatest quality in the strong is mercy. You have proved yourself strong—you have worsted that unfortunate Alcalde—be merciful to him now, and let this incident finish.’