Father Sibyla wore a satisfied air. He moved along tranquilly, and his closed, thin lips showed no signs of disdain. On the other hand, the Franciscan was in a very bad humor. As he walked toward the table, he kicked over the chairs which happened to be in his way and boxed the ears of one of the cadets. The lieutenant was very solemn and grave.

The two friars instinctively started for the head of the table, perhaps by force of habit, and, as might have been expected, they met on opposite sides of the same chair. Then, with ponderous courtesy, each entreated the other to sit down, giving in turn his reasons why the other should take precedence. Every one at the table understood how both really felt in the matter, and all knew well that the one who did not take the coveted seat would grumble discontentedly for the remainder of the evening. The farce proceeded something like this:

“You take it, Brother DÁmaso! It is for you!”

“No, you take it, Brother Sibyla!”

“You are an old friend of the family, the confessor of its deepest mysteries; your age, your dignity, your——”

“No, that is all right as far as age goes, but, on the other hand you are the priest of this suburb,” answered Father DÁmaso in an insincere tone, without, however, leaving the chair.

“As you order it, I obey,” concluded Father Sibyla, making ready to sit down.

“But I do not order it,” protested the Franciscan, “I do not order it.”

Father Sibyla was about to take the seat without any further regard to the protests of his brother, when his eyes chanced to meet those of the lieutenant. According to the religious customs in the Philippines, the highest military officer is inferior to even a convent cook. “Cedent arma togÆ,” said Cicero in the Senate. “Cedent arma cottÆ,” say the friars in the Philippines. Father Sibyla, however, was a person of some culture and refinement, and, as soon as he noticed the expression on the lieutenant’s face, said: “Here! We are now out in the world, and not in the Church. This seat belongs to you, lieutenant!” But, to judge from the tone of his voice, he thought that, although he was out in the world and not in the Church, the seat nevertheless belonged to him. The lieutenant, either to save himself trouble or in order to avoid sitting between two friars, declined the honor in a very few words.

Neither of the disputants had thought of the owner of the house. Ibarra saw him looking upon the scene and smiling with satisfaction.

“How is this, Don Santiago! Aren’t you going to sit down with us?”

But all of the seats were already occupied, and Lucullus did not dine in the house of Lucullus.

“Sit still! Don’t get up!” said Captain Tiago, laying his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “The fact is that this feast is given in honor of the Virgin on account of your safe arrival. Here! Bring on the tinola! I ordered some tinola made expressly for you, for I feel quite certain that you have not had any since you left the Philippines a long while ago.”

A large dish was brought in, still steaming and filled to the brim with tinola. The Dominican, after murmuring the Benedicite (to which only a few of those present could give the response), began to serve the contents of the dish. Either from carelessness or for some other reason, he passed to Father DÁmaso a plate filled with the soup and stew, but containing only two small pieces of chicken, a bony neck and a tough wing. Meanwhile the others, especially Ibarra, were eating all sorts of choice bits. The Franciscan, of course, noticed this, mussed over the stew, took a mouthful of the soup, dropped his spoon with a clatter into his plate, and pushed the dish to one side. While this was going on, the Dominican appeared to be absorbed in conversation with the young blonde. SeÑor Laruja had also begun to converse with Ibarra.

“How long has it been since you were last in this country?” said he.

“About seven years,” responded Ibarra.

“You must have forgotten all about it.”

“On the contrary, although my country seems to have forgotten me, I have always kept her in mind.”

“What do you mean?” interposed the blonde.

“I mean that for over a year I have not received any news from here, so that now I feel like a total stranger. I do not yet know how or when my father died.”

“Ah!” exclaimed the lieutenant.

“Where have you been that you did not telegraph?” asked one of the ladies. “When I was married, we telegraphed to the Peninsula.”

“SeÑora, for the last two years I have been in northern Europe, in Germany and in Poland.”

“And what country of Europe do you like best?” asked the young blonde, who had been listening interestedly.

“After Spain, which is my second fatherland, oh—any free country in Europe.”

“You seem to have travelled a great deal—what is the most remarkable thing that you have observed?” asked Laruja.

Ibarra appeared to be reflecting on the question. “Remarkable? In what way?”

“For instance, in the life of the different peoples,—their social, political and religious life——”

Ibarra meditated for some little time. “I always made it a point to study the history of a country before visiting it, and I find that national development invariably follows perfectly natural rules. I have always noticed that the prosperity or poverty of different peoples is in direct proportion to their liberties or their lack of liberty, or, in other words, in proportion to the sacrifices or selfishness of their forefathers.”

“And is that all you have observed?” asked the Franciscan, with a loud laugh. Up to this time, he had not uttered a single word, but had given his attention to the dinner. “It was not worth while to squander your fortune for the purpose of learning such a trifle—a thing that every school boy knows.”

Ibarra looked at him intently, doubtful what to say. The guests glanced at each other, fearing that a quarrel would break out. “The dinner has been too long, and Your Reverence is affected by too much wine,” Ibarra was about to reply, but he checked himself in time and only said: “Gentlemen, do not wonder at the familiarity with which our old parish priest treats me. He treated me this way when I was a child, and the years that have passed since then have not changed His Reverence. I derive a certain amount of pleasure from it, for I am reminded of those days when His Reverence was a frequent visitor at our house and honored my father’s table.”

The Dominican glanced furtively at the Franciscan, who was trembling. Ibarra continued, rising from his chair: “You will allow me to withdraw, for I have only just arrived, and I must leave town to-morrow. Besides, I have a great many things to do before I leave. The dinner is practically finished, and I drink very little wine and scarcely touch spirits. Gentlemen, here’s to Spain and the Philippines.”

Saying this, he emptied the glass, which, until then, he had not touched. The old lieutenant followed his example, but said nothing.

“Do not go!” said Captain Tiago to him in a low voice. “Maria Clara is coming immediately. Isabel has just gone to get her. The new parish priest of your town is also coming, and he is a saint.”

“I shall come to-morrow before I leave. I have to make a most important visit yet to-night, and really must go!” With this he took his departure. In the meantime, the Franciscan had recovered himself.

“You see how it is,” said he to the young blonde, gesticulating with his dessert knife. “It is nothing but pride. He could not bear to have a priest reprove him. Can decent people believe it? This is the evil consequence of sending young men to Europe. The Government ought to prohibit it.”

That night, the young blonde wrote, among other things, in the first chapter of his “Colonial Studies”: “How the neck and wing of a chicken in a friar’s plate of tinola can disturb the gayety of a feast!” And among his other observations were the following: “In the Philippines the most insignificant person at a dinner or a feast is the host. The owner of the house has only to remain out in the street, and everything will go along beautifully. In the present state of affairs, it would be well to forbid the Filipinos to leave their country, and not to teach them how to read.”