The secretary looked uneasily toward Padre Sibyla and Padre Irene. The cat was about to come out of the bag. Both prepared themselves. “The petition of the students requesting authorization to open an academy of Castilian,” answered the secretary. A general movement was noted among those in the room. After glancing at one another they fixed their eyes on the General to learn what his disposition would be. For six months the petition had lain there awaiting a decision and had become converted into a kind of casus belli in certain circles. His Excellency had lowered his eyes, as if to keep his thoughts from being read. The silence became embarrassing, as the General understood, so he asked the high official, “What do you think?” “What should I think, General?” responded the person addressed, with a shrug of his shoulders and a bitter smile. “What should I think but that the petition is just, very just, and that I am surprised that six months should have been taken to consider it.” “The fact is that it involves other considerations,” said Padre Sibyla coldly, as he half closed his eyes. The high official again shrugged his shoulders, like one who did not comprehend what those considerations could be. “Besides the intemperateness of the demand,” went on the Dominican, “besides the fact that it is in the nature of an infringement on our prerogatives—” Padre Sibyla dared not go on, but looked at Simoun. “The petition has a somewhat suspicious character,” corroborated that individual, exchanging a look with the Dominican, who winked several times. Padre Irene noticed these things and realized that his cause was almost lost—Simoun was against him. “It’s a peaceful rebellion, a revolution on stamped paper,” added Padre Sibyla. “Revolution? Rebellion?” inquired the high official, staring from one to the other as if he did not understand what they could mean. “It’s headed by some young men charged with being too radical and too much interested in reforms, not to use stronger terms,” remarked the secretary, with a look at the Dominican. “Among them is a certain Isagani, a poorly balanced head, nephew of a native priest—” “He’s a pupil of mine,” put in Padre Fernandez, “and I’m much pleased with him.” “Puñales, I like your taste!” exclaimed Padre Camorra. “On the steamer we nearly had a fight. He’s so insolent that when I gave him a shove aside he returned it.” “There’s also one Makaragui or Makarai—” “Makaraig,” Padre Irene joined in. “A very pleasant and agreeable young man.” Then he murmured into the General’s ear, “He’s the one I’ve talked to you about, he’s very rich. The Countess recommends him strongly.” “Ah!” “A medical student, one Basilio—”