Doña Cristina shrugged. What importance could a piece of jewelry have? Even without it, Don Alfonso was still the bishop of Chiapas.

“Like this.”

Once the gesture of submission had taken place, Doña Cristina pointed to an uncomfortable, vertical chair, made of planks.

“You can sit down now.”

The distance between the interlocutors would facilitate their dialogue. Doña Cristina gazed appreciatively at the setting and appeared to approve of it.

“Can I not bring you anything, Monseñor?”

Don Alfonso shook his head; he did not open his lips until the sound of the closing door told him they were alone.

“You will forgive me for not receiving you as you deserve.”

“On the contrary. My presence here is a great imposition on you.”

“It’s an imposition that benefits the shepherds of the flock.”

“How?”

“Those who saw you (and everyone saw you) going toward the Palacio Episcopal and coming to my room will be astounded. Aren’t we living in the time of a new Nero? Weren’t you expected to make me appear before you, by force if necessary?”

“Why would I behave so disrespectfully? I have some consideration for your white hair.”

“And you’ve always been tolerant, too. More than we deserved. But those details escape the people. They see nothing but your walk to the Bishopric and your visit and they say the years of the fat cows have returned for the Church. And those who were kept at the threshold by respect for human affairs go in at last, and those who were lukewarm become fervent, and religious devotion spreads and increases. And all of them pay tithes and offerings.”

The governor was dumbfounded, while Don Alfonso smiled with a sad twist of his lips.

“How unfitting it is for a high dignitary such as myself to refer to such sordid, such basely material matters as money. No, I haven’t forgotten what Our Lord Jesus Christ preached: ‘Man does not live by bread alone.’ But I say unto you: he lives by bread, too. And lately there have been times when we were lacking it.”

“Why?”

“Haven’t those hypocrites out there told you that we were in a sute of siege for months, many months? Naturally, food became scarce.”

“When they were going hungry they must have cursed me for not sending help.”

“Perhaps.”

“Do you think they were right to do so?”

“My perspective on events is different. In any case, God could have chosen to make you an instrument of his punishment.”

“I am not a Catholic, señor.”

“Monseñor.”

“I am not a Catholic, Monseñor. Yet I still have some regard for priests. And what I would not confide to any other man. . . .”

“You have come to confess to me.”

“I want your opinion. I’m fed up with the barbed remarks and indirect allusions of your townsmen.”

“I am not a Coleto, Excelencia.”

“Señor Gobernador.”