"It may be; but it looks to me as if she likes best those who are strong and hearty. Her charming little face does not show a whiff of shame." "You snake in the grass!" "It is the truth," said the friar. "She's a chip of the old block. Do they not say all sorts of things about her mother, Pepa Rincon?" "Perhaps she used to take a little something to make her happy." "It's not a bad kind of happiness. When she was abandoned by her third gallant, Señor Don Jeronimo took charge of her." "Enough of scandal," said Montoria. "Even when we talk of the worst people in the world, we can at least leave them to their own consciences." "I would not give a farthing for the souls of all the Candiolas put together," replied the friar. "But there comes the Señor Don Jeronimo, if I am not mistaken. He has seen us, and is coming over here." Candiola was indeed coming slowly along the Coso, and came up to the convent door. "Good-evening to you, Señor Don Jeronimo," said Montoria. "I live in hope that our grudge is all gone." "A moment ago your innocent young daughter was here looking for you," said Luengo, maliciously. "Where is she?" "She has gone to San Diego," said a soldier. "Maybe some of the French about here have carried her off." "Perhaps they respect her, knowing that she is the daughter of Señor Don Jeronimo," said Luengo. "Is this true, friend Candiola, that they are telling about here?" "What?" "That you have been inside the French lines, holding confabs with that mob?" "I? What vile calumny!" exclaimed the miser. "My enemies are saying that to ruin me. Is it you, Señor de Montoria, who have set these stories going?" "Not even in thought," said the patriot; "but I have certainly heard others say it. I remember defending you, assuring them that Señor Candiola is incapable of selling himself to the French." "My enemies, my enemies wish to ruin me! What calumnies they invent against me! They wish to make me lose my honor, since I have lost my estate. Gentlemen, my house in the Calle de la Sombra has lost part of its roof. Is there any such trouble as mine! The one that I have here back of San Francisco, next to the garden of San Diego, is still preserved; but it is occupied by the troops, and they will finish it for me, and it's a beauty." "That house is worth very little, Señor Don Jeronimo," said the friar. "If I have not forgotten, it is ten years since anybody would live in it." "That is because some crazy people gave out that it has ghosts in it. But let us drop that. Have you seen my daughter about here?" "That virginal white lily has gone over to San Diego in search of her amiable papa." "My daughter has lost all her good sense." "Something of that sort." "Yet Señor de Montoria is all to blame for it. My wicked enemies give me no time to breathe."