Ibarra had gone off almost running to find Maria Clara. He had so much to talk over with her. Through a door he heard the murmur of girls' voices. He knocked.
The voices were hushed, but the door did not open.
"It's I. May I come in?" demanded Crisóstomo, his heart beginning to beat violently.
The silence continued. After some moments, light foot-steps approached the door, and the voice of Sinang said through the keyhole:
"Crisóstomo, we're going to the theatre to-night. Write what you have to say to Maria Clara."
"What does that mean?" said Ibarra to himself as he slowly left the door.
That evening, in the light of countless lanterns, to the sound of bells and of continuous detonations, the procession started for the fourth time.
The captain-general, who had set out on foot, accompanied by his two aides-de-camp, Captain Tiago, the alcalde, the alférez, and Ibarra, and preceded by the guards, to open a passage, was to view the procession from the house of the gobernadorcillo. This functionary had built a platform for the recitation of a loa, a religious poem in honor of the patron saint.
Ibarra would gladly have renounced the hearing of this composition, but His Excellency had ordered his attendance, and Crisóstomo must console himself with the thought of seeing his fiancée at the theatre.
The procession began by the march of the silver candelabra, borne by three sacristans. Then came the school children and their master, then other children, all with paper lanterns, shaped and ornamented according to the taste of each child--for each was his own lantern-maker--hoisted on bamboo poles of various lengths and lighted by bits of candles. An effigy of St. John the Baptist followed, borne on a litter, and then came St. Francis, surrounded by crystal lamps. A band followed, and then the standard of the saint, borne by the brothers of the Third Order, praying aloud in a sort of lamentation. San Diego came next, his car drawn by six brothers of the Third Order, probably fulfilling some vow. St. Mary Magdalen followed him, a beautiful image with splendid hair, wearing a costume of silk spangled with gold, and holding a handkerchief of embroidered piña in her jewelled hands. Lights and incense surrounded her, and her glass tears reflected the varied colors of Bengal lights. St. John the Baptist moved far ahead, as if ashamed of his camel's hair beside all this gold and glitter.