little Pascualet gazing in amazement and alarm at that
helmet with Indian plumes on the man's head and at that menacing cavalry
saber which clanked against the walls and the furniture every time the
Rector turned around. Could that be papa?

At last the dread toilette was over. Not exactly what you would call
comfortable, but they had spent enough time over it. The Rector's
underwear, at odds with the stringency encircling it, was all lumpy, and
what looked like tumors could be seen standing out under the "Jew's"
stockings. And those trousers! They were so tight around the middle that
the poor man could hardly breathe. His helmet, far too small for his
head, kept slipping forward and bumping on his nose. But this was a day
for dignity, not for ease! And the Rector drew his saber, struck up a
rub-a-dub-dub in his stentorian voice, and began to stride up and down
the room, as though the baby there were a crown prince reviewing guard.
His wife's golden, mysterious eyes followed him as he walked back and
forth from one wall of the bedroom to the other like a bear in a cage.
She was tempted to laugh at those bandy legs; but no--she liked him
better in that costume than in the tarred and pitchy clothes he came
home from work in at night, tired out and stupid from toil.

And now they were coming! The "Jews" could be heard, with their band,
down the street. They would be wanting their banner. Dolores hastily
threw a wrapper on, while the captain advanced to the frontiers of his
domain to welcome his army. The lurid company drew up in front of the
house. The drum-beat softened in tone, but continued to give the rhythm
for the privates who stood there marking time, keeping their heads and
bodies and legs moving energetically in space but without moving from
their positions. Tonet and two other "Jews" came gravely forward,
entered the house, and started for the second story, whence the standard
was hanging from a window.

Dolores met her brother-in-law on his way upstairs, and instantly,
instinctively, she drew the overwhelming comparison. There was a real
soldier, a general! Tonet had something about him that distinguished him
from the uncouthness and clumsiness of the others--of the other. His
legs were straight, and his stockings had no wrinkles--everything in his
make-up was stylish, well fitting, sleek. He belonged to the Juan
Tenorios, the royal don Pedros, the Henri Lagarderes, she had seen on
the stage of the theater of