“My God, give me strength to govern my anger. Is it possible to keep my temper and to have humility in the presence of this man? I asked his pardon for the wrong which I did him. I humbled myself before him. I offered him a friendly hand; and now he is here injuring and insulting me in the most disgusting fashion. Wretched man! beat me, kill me, drink all my blood, and sell my bones afterwards to make buttons; but let not that vile tongue of yours cast ignominy upon my beloved son. What is this that you say about my Augustine?”
“The truth.”
“I do not know how to contain myself! Gentlemen, witness my self-control. I do not wish to let myself go. I do not wish to trample on anyone. I do not wish to offend God. I forgive this man his calumnies; but on condition that he quit my presence at once, because seeing him I cannot answer for myself.”
Candiola, alarmed at these words, entered the convent gate. Father Luengo took Montoria down the Coso.
At the same time there began to be heard among the soldiers there an angry murmur which indicated sentiments hostile to the father of Mariquilla, who, accustomed to this sort of thing, did not realize that it was anything unusual. He tried to get away, as they pushed him from one to the other; but they held him, and, without knowing exactly how, he was brought swiftly into the cloister by the threatening group. Then a voice cried, in angry accents—
“To the well, throw him into the well!”
Candiola was seized by many hands, pounded and torn, and pulled about more than ever before.
“He is one of those who go about distributing French bribes to the troops,” said one.
“Yes, yes!” cried others. “Yesterday they say that he was walking about in the market distributing money.”
“Gentlemen,” said the unfortunate man, in a choked voice, “I swear to you that I have never distributed any money.”
And this was the truth.
“Last night they say he was seen sneaking over into the French camp.”
“He did not come back until morning. To the well with him!”
One of my comrades and I tried for awhile to save Candiola from certain death; but we only succeeded by force of prayers and persuasions, saying—
“Boys, do not commit an outrage. What harm can this ridiculous old wretch do?”
“It is true,” said Candiola, with the calmness of despair; “what harm can I do who am always busy aiding those in need? Do not kill me! You are soldiers of the Estremadura and las Peñas de San Pedro; you are all good fellows. You were burning those houses in Las Tenerias where I found the chicken that I sold for a doubloon. Who says that I sell myself to the French? I hate them; I cannot bear to look at them; and I love you as my own life. I have lost everything. Leave me my life, at least.”
These pleadings, and my prayers and those of my friend, softened the soldiers a little; and, when their first outburst of anger was over, it was easy for us to save the wretched old man. The soldiers were presently relieved, and he was in perfect safety; but he never even thanked us when we offered him a bit of bread, after saving his life. A little later, when he recovered his breath enough to walk, he went on out of the street and joined his daughter.
XXVII
That afternoon almost all the efforts of the French were directed against the suburb from the left of the Ebro. They assaulted the Monastery of Jesus, and bombarded the Church of the Virgin del Pilar, where the greater number of sick and infirm had found refuge, believing that the sanctity of the place offered them greater security than any other spot.
In the centre of the city, we did not work much that day. All our attention was concentrated upon the mines, and our efforts directed to giving the enemy evidence that, before consenting to be blown up ourselves, we would discuss blowing them up, or at least flying upwards together.
At night both armies seemed given over to peaceful repose. The rough blows of the pick were no longer heard in the subterranean galleries. I sallied forth; and near San Diego I found Augustine and Mariquilla, who were talking quietly together, seated sedately upon the doorstep of the house los Duendes. They were very glad to see me; and I joined them, sharing the scraps of bread of which they were making their supper.
“We have nowhere to stay,” said Mariquilla. “We were in a portico in the Organo alley; but we were driven out. Why is it that so many people detest my poor father? What harm has he done them? We took refuge afterwards in a corner of the Calle de las Urreas, and were driven out of there too. We sat down afterwards under an arch in the Coso, and all those who were there fled away from us. My father was furious.”
“Mariquilla of my heart,” said Augustine, “let us hope that the siege will soon be finished by some means or other. I hope that God will let us both die, if living we may not be happy. I do not know why, among so many misfortunes, my heart is full of hope; I do not know why I have such happy thoughts, and think constantly of a cheerful future. Why not? Must everything be dreadful and unfortunate? The troubles of my family have been very great. My mother neither receives nor desires to receive any consolation. Nobody is able to get her away from the place where the bodies of my brother and my nephew are; and when by force we take her to ever
