Victorina was respectfully saluted.

Paulita was arrayed in a rich camisa and pañuelo of embroidered piña,
different from those she had worn that morning to the church. The
gauzy texture of the piña set off her shapely head, and the Indians
who saw her compared her to the moon surrounded by fleecy clouds. A
silk rose-colored skirt, caught up in rich and graceful folds by her
little hand, gave majesty to her erect figure, the movement of which,
harmonizing with her curving neck, displayed all the triumphs of vanity
and satisfied coquetry. Isagani appeared to be rather disgusted,
for so many curious eyes fixed upon the beauty of his sweetheart
annoyed him. The stares seemed to him robbery and the girl's smiles
faithlessness.

Juanito saw her and his hump increased when he spoke to her. Paulita
replied negligently, while Doña Victorina called to him, for Juanito
was her favorite, she preferring him to Isagani.

"What a girl, what a girl!" muttered the entranced Padre Camorra.

"Come, Padre, pinch yourself and let me alone," said Ben-Zayb
fretfully.

"What a girl, what a girl!" repeated the friar. "And she has for a
sweetheart a pupil of mine, the boy I had the quarrel with."

"Just my luck that she's not of my town," he added, after turning
his head several times to follow her with his looks. He was even
tempted to leave his companions to follow the girl, and Ben-Zayb had
difficulty in dissuading him. Paulita's beautiful figure moved on,