Fray Salvi smiled and began to talk of commonplace things, of the weather, of the town, and of the fiesta. Maria Clara slipped away on some pretext. "Since we are talking of fiestas, allow me to invite you to the one that we are going to celebrate tomorrow. It is to be a picnic in the woods, which we and our friends are going to hold together." "Where will it be held?" "The young women wish to hold it by the brook in the neighboring wood, near to the old balete, so we shall rise early to avoid the sun." The priest thought a moment and then answered: "The invitation is very tempting and I accept it to prove to you that I hold no rancor against you. But I shall have to go late, after I've attended to my duties. Happy are you who are free, entirely free." A few moments later Ibarra left in order to look after the arrangements for the picnic on the next day. The night was dark and in the street some one approached and saluted him respectfully. "Who are you?" asked Ibarra. "Sir, you don't know my name," answered the unknown, "but I've been waiting for you two days." "For what purpose?" "Because nowhere has any pity been shown me and they say that I'm an outlaw, sir. But I've lost my two sons, my wife is insane, and every one says that I deserve what has happened to me." Ibarra looked at the man critically as he asked, "What do you want now?" "To beg for your pity upon my wife and sons." "I can't stop now," replied Ibarra. "If you wish to come, you can tell me as we go along what has happened to you." The man thanked him, and the two quickly disappeared in the shadows along the dimly lighted street. CHAPTER XXIII Fishing The stars still glittered in the sapphire arch of heaven and the birds were still sleeping among the branches when a merry party, lighted by torches of resin, commonly called _huepes_, made its way through the streets toward the lake. There were five girls, who walked along rapidly with hands clasped or arms encircling one another's waists, followed by some old women and by servants who were carrying gracefully on their heads baskets of food and dishes. Looking upon the laughing and hopeful countenances of the young women and watching the wind blow about their abundant black hair and the wide folds of their garments, we might have taken them for goddesses of the night fleeing from the day, did we not know that they were Maria Clara and her four friends, the merry Sinang, the grave Victoria, the beautiful Iday, and the thoughtful Neneng of modest and timid beauty. They were conversing in a lively manner, laughing and pinching one another, whispering in one another's ears and then breaking out into loud laughter. "You'll wake up the people who are still asleep," Aunt Isabel scolded. "When we were young, we didn't make so much disturbance." "Neither would you get up so early nor would the old folks have been such sleepy-heads," retorted little Sinang.