He said Mass for the troops in the Plaza this morning.
They had built for him an altar of drums, you know. And they brought outside all
the painted blocks to take the air. All the wooden saints stood militarily in a
row at the top of the great flight of steps. They looked like a gorgeous escort
attending the Vicar-General. I saw the great function from the windows of the
Porvenir. He is amazing, your uncle, the last of the Corbelàns. He glittered
exceedingly in his vestments with a great crimson velvet cross down his back.
And all the time our saviour Barrios sat in the Amarilla Club drinking punch at
an open window. Esprit fort - our Barrios. I expected every moment your uncle to
launch an excommunication there and then at the black eye-patch in the window
across the Plaza. But not at all. Ultimately the troops marched off. Later
Barrios came down with some of the officers, and stood with his uniform all
unbuttoned, discoursing at the edge of the pavement. Suddenly your uncle
appeared, no longer glittering, but all black, at the cathedral door with that
threatening aspect he has - you know, like a sort of avenging spirit. He gives
one look, strides over straight at the group of uniforms, and leads away the
general by the elbow. He walked him for a quarter of an hour in the shade of a
wall. Never let go his elbow for a moment, talking all the time with exaltation,
and gesticulating with a long black arm. It was a curious scene. The officers
seemed struck with astonishment. Remarkable man, your missionary uncle. He hates
an infidel much less than a heretic, and prefers a heathen many times to an
infidel. He condescends graciously to call me a heathen, sometimes, you know.«
    Antonia listened with her hands over the balustrade, opening and shutting
the fan gently; and Decoud talked a little nervously, as if afraid that she
would leave him at the first pause. Their comparative isolation, the precious
sense of intimacy, the slight contact of their arms, affected him softly; for
now and then a tender inflection crept into the flow of his ironic murmurs.
    »Any slight sign of favour from a relative of yours is welcome, Antonia. And
perhaps he understands me, after all! But I know him, too, our Padre Corbelàn.
The idea of political honour, justice, and honesty for him consists in the
restitution of the confiscated Church property. Nothing else could have drawn
that fierce converter of savage Indians out of the wilds to work for the
