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 serenely. "Bueno," he said. "There is no answer."

Then, in his quiet, kindly way, he engaged in a cautious conversation with the man, who was willing to talk cheerily, as if something lucky had happened to him recently. He had seen from a distance Sotillo's infantry camped along the shore of the harbor on each side of the custom-house. They had done no damage to the buildings. The foreigners of the railway remained shut up within the yards. They were no longer anxious to shoot poor people. He cursed the foreigners; then he reported Montero's entry and the rumors of the town. The poor were going to be made rich now. That was very good. More he did not know; and, breaking into propitiatory smiles, he intimated that he was hungry and thirsty. The old major directed him to go to the alcalde of the first village. The man rode off, and Don Pépé, striding slowly in the direction of a little wooden belfry, looked over a hedge into a little garden and saw Father Romàn sitting in a white hammock slung between two orange-trees in front of the presbytery.

An enormous tamarind shaded with its dark foliage the whole white frame house. A young Indian girl, with long hair, big eyes, and small hands and feet, carried out a wooden chair, while a thin, old woman, crabbed and vigilant, watched her all the time from the veranda. Don Pépé sat down in the chair and lighted a cigar; the priest drew in an immense quantity of snuff out of the hollow of his palm. On his reddish-brown face, worn, hollowed as if crumbled, the eyes fresh and candid, sparkled like two black diamonds.