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“I asked you,” said the curate amiably, filling his friend’s plate, “because my niece wishes you to accompany her a short distance. She has some business or other to attend to, and it is a little late to be out alone.”

“Is she going to Dona Perfecta’s?” asked Ramos. “I was there a few moments ago, but I did not want to make any delay.”

“How is the senora?”

“A little frightened. To-night I took away the six young men I had in the house.”

“Why! don’t you think they will be wanted there?” said Remedios, with alarm.

“They are wanted more in Villahorrenda. Brave men chafe at being kept in the house; is it not so, Senor Canon?”

“Senor Ramos, that house ought not to be left unprotected,” said the Penitentiary.

“The servants are enough, and more than enough. But do you suppose, Senor Don Inocencio, that the brigadier employs himself in attacking the people’s houses?”

“Yes, but you know very well that that diabolical engineer–”

“For that—there are not wanting brooms in the house,” said Cristobal jovially. “For in the end, there will be no help for it but to marry them. After what has passed–”

“Senor Ramos,” said Remedios, with sudden anger, “I imagine that all you know about marrying people is very little.”

“I say that because a little while ago, when I was at the house, the mother and daughter seemed to be having a sort of reconciliation. Dona Perfecta was kissing Rosarito over and over again, and there was no end to their caresses and endearments.”

“Reconciliation! With all these preparations for the war you have lost your senses. But, finally, are you coming with me or not?”

“It is not to Dona Perfecta’s she wants to go,” said the priest, “but to the hotel of the widow De Cuzco. She was saying that she does not dare to go alone, because she is afraid of being insulted.”

“By whom?”

“It is easily understood. By that infernal engineer. Last night my niece met him there, and she gave him some plain talk; and for that reason she is not altogether easy in her mind to-night. The young fellow is revengeful and insolent.”

“I don’t know whether I can go,” said Caballuco. “As I am in hiding now I cannot measure my strength against Don Jose Poquita Cosa. If I were not as I am—with half my face hidden, and the other half uncovered—I would have broken his back for him already twenty times over. But what happens if I attack him? He discovers who I am, he falls upon me with the soldiers, and good-bye to Caballuco. As for giving him a treacherous blow, that is something I couldn’t do; nor would Dona Perfecta consent to it, either. For a stab in the dark Cristobal Ramos is not the man.”

“But are you crazy, man? What are you thinking about?” said the Penitentiary, with unmistakable signs of astonishment. “Not even in thought would I advise you to do an injury to that gentleman. I would cut my tongue out before I would advise such a piece of villany. The wicked will fall, it is true; but it is God who will fix the moment, not I. And the question is not to give a beating, either. I would rather receive a hundred blows myself than advise the administration of such a medicine to any Christian. One thing only will I say to you,” he ended, looking at the bravo over his spectacles, “and that is, that as my niece is going there; and as it is probable, very probable, is it not, Remedios? that she may have to say a few plain words to that man, I recommend you not to leave her unprotected, in case she should be insulted.”

“I have something to do to-night,” answered Caballuco, laconically and dryly.

“You hear what he says, Remedios. Leave your business for to-morrow.”

“I can’t do that. I will go alone.”

“No, you shall not go alone, niece. Now let us hear no more about the matter. Senor Ramos has something to do, and he cannot accompany you. Fancy if you were to be insulted by that rude man!”

“Insulted! A lady insulted by that fellow!” exclaimed Caballuco. “Come that must not be.”

“If you had not something to do—bah! I should be quite easy in my mind, then.”

“I have something to do,” said the Centaur, rising from the table, “but if you wish it–”

There was a pause. The Penitentiary had closed his eyes and was meditating.

“I wish it, Senor Ramos,” he said at last.

“There is no more to be said then. Let us go, Senora Dona Maria.”

“Now, my dear niece,” said Don Inocencio, half seriously, half jestingly, “since we have finished supper bring me the basin.”

He gave his niece a penetrating glance, and accompanying it with the corresponding action, pronounced these words:

“I wash my hands of the matter.”

CHAPTER XXVIII
FROM PEPE REY TO DON JUAN REY

“ORBAJOSA, April 12.

“MY DEAR FATHER:

“Forgive me if for the first time in my life I disobey you in refusing to leave this place or to renounce my project. Your advice and your entreaty are what were to be expected from a kind, good father. My obstinacy is natural in an insensate son; but something strange is taking place within me; obstinacy and honor have become so blended and confounded in my mind that the bare idea of desisting from my purpose makes me ashamed. I have changed greatly. The fits of rage that agitate me now were formerly unknown to me. I regarded the violent acts, the exaggerated expressions of hot-tempered and impetuous men with the same scorn as the brutal actions of the wicked. Nothing of this kind surprises me any longer, for in myself I find at all times a certain terrible capacity for wickedness. I can speak to you as I would speak to God and to my conscience; I can tell you that I am a wretch, for he is a wretch who is wanting in that powerful moral force which enables him to chastise his passions and submit his life to the stern rule of conscience. I have been wanting in the Christian fortitude which exalts the spirit of the man who is offended above the offences which he receives and the enemies from whom he receives them. I have had the weakness to abandon myself to a mad fury, putting myself on a level with my detractors, returning them blow for blow, and endeavoring to confound them by methods learned in their own base school. How deeply I regret that you were not at my side to turn me from this path! It is now too late. The passions will not brook delay. They are impatient, and demand their prey with cries and with the convulsive eagerness of a fierce moral thirst. I have succumbed. I cannot forget what you so often said to me, that anger may be called the worst of the passions, since, suddenly transforming the character, it engenders all the others, and lends to each its own infernal fire.

“But it is not anger alone that has brought me to the state of mind which I have described. A more expansive and noble sentiment—the profound and ardent love which I have for my cousin, has also contributed to it, and this is the one thing that absolves me in my own estimation. But if love had not done so, pity would have impelled me to brave the fury and the intrigues of your terrible sister; for poor Rosario, placed between an irresistible affection and her mother, is at the present moment one of the most unhappy beings on the face of the earth. The love which she has for me, and which responds to mine—does it not give me the right to open, in whatever way I can, the doors of her house and take her out of it; employing the law, as far as the law reaches, and using force at the point where the law ceases to support me? I think that your rigid moral scrupulosity will not give an affirmative answer to this question; but I have ceased to be the upright and methodical character whose conscience was in exact conformity with the dictates of the moral law. I am no longer the man whom an almost perfect education enabled to keep his emotions under strict control. To-day I am a man like other men; at a single step I have crossed the line which separates the just and the good from the unjust and the wicked. Prepare yourself to hear of some dreadful act committed by me. I will take care to notify you of all my misdeeds.

“But the confession of my faults will not relieve me from the responsibility of the serious occurrences which have taken place and which are taking place, nor will this responsibility, no matter how much I may argue, fall altogether on your sister. Dona Perfecta’s responsibility is certainly very great. What will be the extent of mine! Ah, dear father! believe nothing of what you hear about me; believe only what I shall tell you. If they tell you that I have committed a deliberate piece of villany, answer that it is a lie. It is difficult, very difficult, for me to judge myself, in the state of disquietude in which I am, but I dare assure you that I have not deliberately given cause for scandal. You know well to what extremes passion can lead when circumstances favor its fierce, its all-invading growth.

“What is most bitter to me is the thought of having employed artifice, deceit, and base concealments—I who was truth itself. I am humiliated in my own estimation. But is this the greatest perversity into which the soul can fall? Am I beginning now, or have I ended? I cannot tell. If Rosario with her angelic hand does not take me out of this hell of my conscience, I desire that you should come to take me out of it. My cousin is an angel, and suffering, as she has done, for my sake, she has taught me a great many things that I did not know before.

“Do not be surprised at the incoherence of what I write. Diverse emotions inflame me; thoughts at times assail me truly worthy of my immortal soul; but at times also I fall into a lamentable state of dejection, and I am reminded of the weak and degenerate characters whose baseness you have painted to me in such strong colors, in order that I might abhor them. In the state in which I am to-day I am ready for good or for evil. God have pity upon me! I already know what prayer is—a solemn and reflexive supplication, so personal that it is not compatible with formulas learned by heart; an expansion of the soul which dares to reach out toward its source; the opposite of remorse, in which the soul, at war with itself, seeks in vain to defend itself by sophisms and concealments. You have taught me many good things, but now I am practising; as we engineers say, I am studying on the ground; and in this way my knowledge will become broadened and confirmed. I begin to imagine now that I am not so wicked as I myself believe. Am I right?

“I end this letter in haste. I must send it with some soldiers who are going in the direction of the station at Villahorrenda, for the post-office of this place is not to be trusted.”

“APRIL 14.

“It would amuse you, dear father, if I could make you understand the ideas of the people of this wretched town. You know already that almost all the country is up in arms. It was a thing to be anticipated, and the politicians are mistaken if they imagine that it will be over in a couple of days. Hostility to us and to the Government is innate in the Orbajosan’s mind, and forms a part of it as much as his religious faith. Confining myself to the particular question with my aunt, I will tell you a singular thing—the poor lady, who is penetrated by the spirit of feudalism to the marrow of her bones, has taken it into her head that I am going to attack her house and carry off her daughter, as the gentlemen of the Middle Ages attacked an enemy’s castle to consummate some outrage. Don’t laugh, for it is the truth—such are the ideas of these people. I need not tell you that she regards me as a monster, as a sort of heretic Moorish king, and of the officers here who are my friends she has no better opinion. In Dona Perfecta’s house it is a matter of firm belief that the army and I have formed a diabolical and anti-religious coalition to rob Orbajosa of its treasures, its faith, and its maidens. I am sure that your sister firmly believes that I am going to take her house by assault, and there is not a doubt but that behind the door some barricade has been erected.

“But it could not be otherwise. Here they have the most antiquated ideas respecting society, religion, the state, property. The religious exaltation which impels them to employ force against the Government, to defend a faith which no one has attacked, and which, besides, they do not possess, revives in their mind the feudal sentiment; and as they would settle every question by brute force, with the sword and with fire, killing all who do not think as they do, they believe that no one in the world employs other methods.

“Far from intending to perform quixotic deeds in this lady’s house, I have in reality saved her some annoyances from which the rest of the town have not escaped. Owing to my friendship with the brigadier she has not been obliged to present, as was ordered, a list of those of the men in her service who have joined the insurgents; and if her house was searched I have certain knowledge that it was only for form’s sake; and if the six men there were disarmed, they have been replaced by six others, and nothing has been done to her. You see to what my hostility to that lady is reduced.

“It is true that I have the support of the military chiefs, but I make use of it solely to escape being insulted or ill-used by these implacable people. The probabilities of my success consist in the fact that the authorities recently appointed by the commander of the brigade are all my friends. I derive from them the moral force which enables me to intimidate these people. I don’t know whether I shall find myself compelled to commit some violent action; but don’t be alarmed, for the assault and the taking of the house is altogether a wild, feudal idea of your sister. Chance has placed me in an advantageous position. Rage, the passion that burns within me, will impel me to profit by it. I don’t know how far I may go.”

“APRIL 17.

“Your letter has given me great consolation. Yes; I can attain my object, employing only the resources of the law, which will be completely effectual for it. I have consulted the authorities of this place, and they all approve of the course you indicate. I am very glad of it. Since I have put into my cousin’s mind the idea of disobedience, let it at least be under the protection of the law. I will do what you bid me, that is to say I will renounce the somewhat unworthy collaboration of Pinzon; I will break up the terrorizing solidarity which I established with the soldiers; I will cease to make a display of the power I derived from them; I will have done with adventures, and at the fitting moment I will act with calmness, prudence, and all the benignity possible. It is better so. My coalition, half-serious, half-jesting, with the army, had for its object to protect me against the violence of the Orbajosans and of the servants and the relations of my aunt. For the rest, I have always disapproved of the idea of what we call armed intervention.

“The friend who aided me has been obliged to leave the house; but I am not entirely cut off from communication with my cousin. The poor girl shows heroic valor in the midst of her sufferings, and will obey me blindly.

“Set your mind at rest about my personal safety. For my part, I have no fear and I am quite tranquil.”

“APRIL 20.

“To-day I can write only a few lines. I have a great deal to do. All will be ended within two or three days. Don’t write to me again to this miserable town. I shall soon have the happiness of embracing you.

“PEPE.”

CHAPTER XXIX
FROM PEPE REY TO ROSARITO POLENTINOS

“Give Estebanillo the key of the garden and charge him to take care about the dog. The boy is mine, body and soul. Fear nothing! I shall be very sorry if you cannot come down stairs as you did the other night. Do all you can to manage it. I will be in the garden a little after midnight. I will then tell you what course I have decided upon, and what you are to do. Tranquillize your mind, my dear girl, for I have abandoned all imprudent or violent expedients. I will tell you every thing when I see you. There is much to tell; and it must be spoken, not written. I can picture to myself your terror and anxiety at the thought of my being so near you. But it is a week since I have seen you. I have sworn that this separation from you shall soon be ended, and it will be ended. My heart tells me that I shall see you. I swear that I will see you.”

CHAPTER XXX
BEATING UP THE GAME

A man and a woman entered the hotel of the widow De Cuzco a little after ten o’clock, and left it at half-past eleven.

“Now, Senora Dona Maria,” said the man, “I will take you to your house, for I have something to do.”

“Wait, Senor Ramos, for the love of God!” she answered. “Why don’t we go to the Casino to see if he comes out? You heard just now that Estebanillo, the boy that works in the garden, was talking with him this afternoon.”

“But are you looking for Don Jose?” asked the Centaur, with ill-humor. “What have we to do with him? The courtship with Dona Rosario ended as it was bound to end, and now there is nothing for it but for my mother to marry them. That is my opinion.”

“You are a fool!” said Remedios angrily.

“Senora, I am going.”

“Why, you rude man, are you going to leave me alone in the street?”

“Yes, senora, unless you go home at once.”

“That’s right—leave me alone, exposed to be insulted! Listen to me, Senor Ramos. Don Jose will come out of the Casino in a moment, as usual. I want to see whether he goes into his hotel or goes past it. It is a fancy of mine, only a fancy.”

“What I know is that I have something to do, and that it is near twelve o’clock.”

“Silence!” said Remedios. “Let us hide ourselves around the corner. A man is coming down the Calle de la Triperia Alta. It is he!”

“Don Jose! I know him by his walk.”

“Let us follow him,” said Maria Remedios with anxiety. “Let us follow him at a little distance, Ramos.”

“Senora—”

“Only a minute, then, Dona Remedios. After that I must go.”

They walked on about thirty paces, keeping at a moderate distance behind the man they were watching. The Penitentiary’s niece stopped then and said:

“He is not going into his hotel.”

“He may be going to the brigadier’s.”

“The brigadier lives up the street, and Don Pepe is going down in the direction of the senora’s house.”

“Of the senora’s house!” exclaimed Caballuco, quickening his steps.

But they were mistaken. The man whom they were watching passed the house of Polentinos and walked on.

“Do you see that you were wrong?”

“Senor Ramos, let us follow him!” said Remedios, pressing the Centaur’s hand convulsively. “I have a foreboding.”

“We shall soon know, for we are near the end of the town.”

“Don’t go so fast—he may see us. It is as I thought, Senor Ramos; he is going into the garden by the condemned door.”

“Senora, you have lost your senses!”

“Come on, and we shall see.”

The night was dark, and the watchers could not tell precisely at what point Senor de Rey had entered; but a grating of rusty hinges which they heard, and the circumstance of not meeting the young man in the whole length of the garden wall, convinced them that he had entered the garden. Caballuco looked at his companion with stupefaction. He seemed bewildered.

“What are you thinking about? Do you still doubt?”

“What ought I to do?” asked the bravo, covered with confusion. “Shall we give him a fright? I don’t know what the senora would think about it. I say that because I was at her house this evening, and it seemed to me that the mother and daughter had become reconciled.”

“Don’t be a fool! Why don’t you go in?”

“Now I remember that the armed men are not there; I told them to leave this evening.”

“And this block of marble still doubts what he ought to do! Ramos, go into the garden and don’t be a coward.”

“How can I go in if the door is closed?”

“Get over the wall. What a snail! If I were a man–”

“Well, then, up! There are some broken bricks here where the boys climb over the wall to steal the fruit.”

“Up quickly! I will go and knock at the front door to waken the senora, if she should be asleep.”

The Centaur climbed up, not without difficulty. He sat astride on the wall for an instant, and then disappeared among the dark foliage of the trees. Maria Remedios ran desperately toward the Calle del Condestable, and, seizing the knocker of the front door, knocked—knocked three times with all her heart and soul.