An old woman in a _guingón_ habit, Sister Puté, chid her granddaughter, a child of six years, who was kneeling at her side, "O lost one, give heed, for you're going to hear a sermon like that of Good Friday!" Here the old lady gave her a pinch to awaken the piety of the child, who made a grimace, stuck out her nose, and wrinkled up her eyebrows. Some men squatted on their heels and dozed beside the confessional. One old man nodding caused our old woman to believe that he was mumbling prayers, so, running her fingers rapidly over the beads of her rosary--as that was the most reverent way of respecting the designs of Heaven--little by little she set herself to imitating hint. Ibarra stood in one corner while Maria Clara knelt near the high altar in a space which the curate had had the courtesy to order the sacristans to clear for her. Capitan Tiago, in a frock coat, sat on one of the benches provided for the authorities, which caused the children who did not know him to take him for another gobernadorcillo and to be wary about getting near him. At last the alcalde with his staff arrived, proceeding from the sacristy and taking their seats in magnificent chairs placed on strips of carpet. The alcalde wore a full-dress uniform and displayed the cordon of Carlos III, with four or five other decorations. The people did not recognize him. "_Abá!_" exclaimed a rustic. "A civil-guard dressed as a comedian!" "Fool!" rejoined a bystander, nudging him with his elbow. "It's the Prince Villardo that we saw at the show last night!" So the alcalde went up several degrees in the popular estimation by becoming an enchanted prince, a vanquisher of giants.