"No. Don't imagine this is silly talk. I'm on the trail of a
fortune,--a huge fortune. If you help me, I'll remember you."
"Sure. What do you want me to do?"
"I'll tell you when the right moment comes."
Manuel could not conceal an ironic smile.
"You don't believe it," muttered Roberto.
"That doesn't matter. When you'll see, you'll believe."
"Naturally."
"If I should happen to need you, promise you'll help me."
"I'll help you as far as I am able," replied Manuel, with feigned
earnestness.
Several ragamuffins sprawled themselves out on the clearing near
Manuel and Roberto, and the student did not care to go on with his
tale.
"They've already begun to split up into divisions," said one of the
loafers who wore a coachman's hat, pointing with a stick to the women
inside the courtyard of La Doctrina.
And so it was; groups were clustering about the trees of the patio, on
each of which was hung a poster with a picture and a number in the
middle.
"There go the marchionesses," added he of the coachman's hat,
indicating several women garbed in black who had just appeared in the
courtyard.
The white faces stood out amidst the mourning clothes.
"They're all marchionesses," said one.
"Well, they're not all beauties," retorted Manuel, joining the
conversation. "What have they come here for?"
"They're the ones who teach religion," answered the fellow with the
hat.
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