“For you, Fray Damaso.”
“For you, Fray Sibyla.”
“An older friend of the family—confessor of the deceased lady—age, dignity, and authority—”
“Not so very old, either! On the other hand, you are the curate of the district,” replied Fray Damaso sourly, without taking his hand from the back of the chair.
“Since you command it, I obey,” concluded Fray Sibyla, disposing himself to take the seat.
“I don’t command it!” protested the Franciscan. “I don’t command it!”
Fray Sibyla was about to seat himself without paying any more attention to these protests when his eyes happened to encounter those of the lieutenant. According to clerical opinion in the Philippines, the highest secular official is inferior to a friar-cook: cedant arma togae, said Cicero in the Senate—cedant arma cottae, say the friars in the Philippines.[1]
But Fray Sibyla was a well-bred person, so he said, “Lieutenant, here we are in the world and not in the church. The seat of honor belongs to you.” To judge from the tone of his voice, however, even in the world it really did belong to him, and the lieutenant, either to keep out of trouble or to avoid sitting between two friars, curtly declined.
None of the claimants had given a thought to their host. Ibarra noticed him watching the scene with a smile of satisfaction.
“How’s this, Don Santiago, aren’t you going to sit down with us?”
But all the seats were occupied; Lucullus was not to sup in the house of Lucullus.
“Sit still, don’t get up!” said Capitan Tiago, placing his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “This fiesta is for the special purpose of giving thanks to the Virgin for your
- ↑ Arms should yield to the toga (military to civil power). Arms should yield to the surplice (military to religious power),—Tr.
