As a matter of fact I had been caught gaping at the ceremony quite new to me, and had not expected a move of that sort. The ruffian kneeling within a foot of me thumped and bellowed in an ecstasy of piety. As to me, I own I stood there looking with impatience at a passing canopy that seemed all gold, with three priests in gorgeous capes walking slowly under it, and I absolutely forgot to take off my hat. The bearded ruffian looked up from the midst of his penitential exercises, and before I realized I was outraging his or anybody else’s feelings, leaped up with a yell, “Thou sacrilegious infidel,” and sent my hat flying off my head. Just then the band crashed again, the bells pealed out, and no one heard his shout. With one blow of my fist I sent him staggering backwards. The procession had passed; people were rising from their knees and pouring out of the narrow street. Swearing, he fumbled under his cloak; I watched him narrowly; but in a moment he sprang away and lost himself amongst the moving crowd. I picked up my hat. For a time I stood very uneasy, and then retreated under a doorway. Nothing happened, and I was anxious to get on. It was possible to cross the wide street now. That _Lugareño_ did not know me. He was a _Lugareño_, though. No doubt about it. I would make a dash now; but first I stole a hasty glance at the plan of my route which I kept in the hollow of my palm. “Señor,” said a voice. I lifted my head. An elderly man in black, with a white moustache and imperial, stood before me. The ruffian was stalking up to his side, and four soldiers with an officer were coming behind. I took in the whole disaster at a glance. “The Señor is no doubt a foreigner--perhaps an Englishman,” said the official in black. He had a lace collar, a chain on his neck, velvet breeches, a well-turned leg in black stockings. His voice was soft. I was so disconcerted that I nodded at him. “The Señor is young and inconsiderate. Religious feelings ought to be respected.” The official in black was addressing me in sad and measured tones. “This good Catholic,” he continued, eying the bearded ruffian dubiously, “has made a formal statement to me of your impious demonstration.” What a fatal accident, I thought, appalled; but I tried to explain the matter. I expressed regret. The other gazed at me benevolently. “Nevertheless, Señor, pray follow me. Even for your own safety. You must give some account of yourself.” This I was firmly resolved not to give. But the _Lugareño_ had been going through a pantomime of scrutinizing my person. He crouched up, stepped back, then to one side. “This worthy man,” began the official in black, “complains of your violence, too....” “This worthy man,” I shouted stupidly, “is a pirate. He is a Rio Medio _Lugareño_. He is a criminal.” The official seemed astounded, and I saw my idiotic mistake at once--too late! “Strange,” he murmured, and, at the same time, the ruffianly wretch began to shout: