Near the house of the wealthy student he observed whisperings and mysterious signals among the neighbors, but not comprehending what they meant, continued serenely on his way and entered the doorway. Two guards advanced and asked him what he wanted. Basilio realized that he had made a bad move, but he could not now retreat. “I’ve come to see my friend Makaraig,” he replied calmly. The guards looked at each other. “Wait here,” one of them said to him. “Wait till the corporal comes down.” Basilio bit his lips and Simoun’s words again recurred to him. Had they come to arrest Makaraig?—was his thought, but he dared not give it utterance. He did not have to wait long, for in a few moments Makaraig came down, talking pleasantly with the corporal. The two were preceded by a warrant officer. “What, you too, Basilio?” he asked. “I came to see you—” “Noble conduct!” exclaimed Makaraig laughing. “In time of calm, you avoid us.” The corporal asked Basilio his name, then scanned a list. “Medical student, Calle Anloague?” he asked. Basilio bit his lip. “You’ve saved us a trip,” added the corporal, placing his hand on the youth’s shoulder. “You’re under arrest!” “What, I also?” Makaraig burst out into laughter. “Don’t worry, friend. Let’s get into the carriage, while I tell you about the supper last night.” With a graceful gesture, as though he were in his own house, he invited the warrant officer and the corporal to enter the carriage that waited at the door. “To the Civil Government!” he ordered the cochero. Now that Basilio had again regained his composure, he told Makaraig the object of his visit. The rich student did not wait for him to finish, but seized his hand. “Count on me, count on me, and to the festivities celebrating our graduation we’ll invite these gentlemen,” he said, indicating the corporal and the warrant officer. CHAPTER XXVII THE FRIAR AND THE FILIPINO Vox populi, vox Dei We left Isagani haranguing his friends. In the midst of his enthusiasm an usher approached him to say that Padre Fernandez, one of the higher professors, wished to talk with him. Isagani’s face fell. Padre Fernandez was a person greatly respected by him, being the one always excepted by him whenever the friars were attacked. “What does Padre Fernandez want?” he inquired. The usher shrugged his shoulders and Isagani reluctantly followed him. Padre Fernandez, the friar whom we met in Los Baños, was waiting in his cell, grave and sad, with his brows knitted as if he were in deep thought. He arose as Isagani entered, shook hands with him, and closed the door. Then he began to pace from one end of the room to the other. Isagani stood waiting for him to speak.