"What do you say?" exclaimed my protector. "How am I to blame for what this child has inherited of the evil ways of her mother? I mean to say (my cursed tongue!) that her mother was an exemplary lady." "The insults and scorn of Señor Montoria do not affect me," said the miser, with biting contempt. "Instead of insulting me, the Señor Don José ought to keep his son Augustine in order, that libertine who has turned my daughter's head. No, I will not give her to him in marriage, though he begs on his knees. He wants to rob me of her. A pretty fellow, that Don Augustine! No, no, he shall not have her for a wife. She can do better, much better, my Mariquilla!" Don José de Montoria turned white on hearing this, and stepped hastily towards Candiola, with the intention doubtless of renewing the scene in the Calle de Anton Trillo. But he restrained himself, and said in a mournful voice,-- "My God, give me strength to govern my anger. Is it possible to keep my temper and to have humility in the presence of this man? I asked his pardon for the wrong which I did him. I humbled myself before him. I offered him a friendly hand; and now he is here injuring and insulting me in the most disgusting fashion. Wretched man! beat me, kill me, drink all my blood, and sell my bones afterwards to make buttons; but let not that vile tongue of yours cast ignominy upon my beloved son. What is this that you say about my Augustine?" "The truth." "I do not know how to contain myself! Gentlemen, witness my self-control. I do not wish to let myself go. I do not wish to trample on any one. I do not wish to offend God. I forgive this man his calumnies; but on condition that he quit my presence at once, because seeing him I cannot answer for myself." Candiola, alarmed at these words, entered the convent gate. Father Luengo took Montoria down the Coso. At the same time there began to be heard among the soldiers there an angry murmur which indicated sentiments hostile to the father of Mariquilla, who, accustomed to this sort of thing, did not realize that it was anything unusual. He tried to get away, as they pushed him from one to the other; but they held him, and, without knowing exactly how, he was brought swiftly into the cloister by the threatening group. Then a voice cried, in angry accents,-- "To the well, throw him into the well!" Candiola was seized by many hands, pounded and torn, and pulled about more than ever before. "He is one of those who go about distributing French bribes to the troops," said one. "Yes, yes!" cried others. "Yesterday they say that he was walking about in the market distributing money." "Gentlemen," said the unfortunate man, in a choked voice, "I swear to you that I have never distributed any money." And this was the truth. "Last night they say he was seen sneaking over into the French camp." "He did not come back until morning. To the well with him!"