Without paying any attention to the rich odor of chocolate, or to the rattle of boxes and coins which came from the treasury, and scarcely acknowledging the respectful and deferential salute of the procurator-brother, he entered, passed along several corridors, and knocked at a door.
"Come in," sighed a weak voice.
"May God restore health to your Reverence," was the young Dominican's greeting as he entered.
Seated in a large armchair was an aged priest, wasted and rather sallow, like the saints that Rivera painted.

His eyes were sunken in their hollow sockets, over which his heavy eyebrows were almost always contracted, thus accentuating their brilliant gleam.

Padre Sibyla, with his arms crossed under the venerable scapulary of St.Dominic, gazed at him feelingly, then bowed his head and waited in silence.
"Ah," sighed the old man, "they advise an operation, an operation, Hernando, at my age! This country, O this terrible country! Take warning from my ease, Hernando!" Fray Sibyla raised his eyes slowly and fixed them on the sick man's face.

"What has your Reverence decided to do ?" he asked.
"To die! Ah, what else can I do?
I am suffering too much, but--I have made many suffer, I am paying my debt! And how are you?
What has brought you here ?" "I've come to talk about the business which you committed to my care." "Ah! What about it ?" "Pish!" answered the young man disgustedly, as he seated himself and turned away his face with a contemptuous expression, "They've been telling us fairy tales.

Young Ibarra is a youth of discernment; he doesn't seem to be a fool, but I believe that he is a good lad." "You believe so ?" "Hostilities began last night." "Already?
How ?" Fray Sibyla then recounted briefly what had taken place between Padre Damaso and Ibarra.