He had not proceeded far, when a hand was laid upon his arm, and turning, with somewhat pugnacious intentions, encountered Father Mazzolin's piercing black eyes.
"Bueno tarde, Padre." The black eyes rested on Nevarro with an expression which seemed to demand an explanation of his choler.

Manuel moved uneasily; the hot blood glowed in his swarthy cheek, and swelled like cords on the darkened brow.
"Did you wish to speak with me, Padre ?" "Even so, my son.

Thou art troubled, come unto one who can give thee comfort." They were standing before the door of the harkell occupied by the priest: he opened it and drew Manuel in.
An hour later they emerged from the house.

All trace of anger was removed from Nevarro's brow, and Father Mazzolin's countenance wore the impenetrable cast he ever assumed in public.

It was his business expression, the mask behind which he secretly drew the strings, and lured his dupes into believing him a disinterested and self-denying pastor, whose only aim in life was to promote the welfare and happiness of his flock.
When Don Garcia sat that night, _a la Turk_, on a buffalo-robe before his door, puffing his cigarrita, and keeping time to the violin, which sent forth its merry tones at a neighboring fandango, Inez drew near, and related the result of her interview with Manuel, concluding by declaring her intention to abide by her decision, and consult her own wishes in the selection of a husband.
His astonishment was great.