Page:The reign of greed (1912).pdf/372

 N his solitary retreat on the shore of the sea, whose mobile surface was visible through the open windows, extending outward until it mingled with the horizon, Padre Florentino was relieving the monotony by playing on his harmonium sad and melancholy tunes, to which the sonorous roar of the surf and the sighing of the treetops of the neighboring wood served as accompaniments. Notes long, full, mournful as a prayer, yet still vigorous, escaped from the old instrument. Padre Florentino, who was an accomplished musician, was improvising, and, as he was alone, gave free rein to the sadness in his heart.

For the truth was that the old man was very sad. His good friend, Don Tiburcio de Espadaña, had just left him, fleeing from the persecution of his wife. That morning he had received a note from the lieutenant of the Civil Guard, which ran thus:

"T-that V-victorina!" Don Tiburcio had stammered. "S-she's c-capable of having me s-shot!"

Padre Florentino was unable to reassure him. Vainly he pointed out to him that the word cojera should have read cogerá, and that the hidden Spaniard could not he Don