He made a sudden resolution: throwing the papers and some clothing into a heap in the center of the room, he poured over them the oil from a lamp and set fire to the whole.

He was hurriedly placing the arms in his belt when he caught sight of the portrait of Maria Clara and hesitated a moment, then thrust it into one of the sacks and with them in his hands leaped from the window into the garden.
It was time that he did so, too, for the guards were forcing an entrance.

"Let us in to get your master's papers!" cried the directorcillo.
"Have you permission?
If you haven't, you won't get in,'" answered an old man.
But the soldiers pushed him aside with the butts of their rifles and ran up the stairway, just as a thick cloud of smoke rolled through the house and long tongues of flame shot out from the study, enveloping the doors and windows.
"Fire! Fire!" was the cry, as each rushed to save what he could.

But the blaze had reached the little laboratory and caught the inflammable materials there, so the guards had to retire.

The flames roared about, licking up everything in their way and cutting off the passages.