u're no gentleman! You must come from Valencia. But I'll teach
you manners, if you don't behave yourself!"

The "meeting" place, on a crossing of the Calle de San Antonio, along
which, every now and then, some tiles of curious design had been placed
to mark the stations of the march to Calvary, was drawing the bulk of
the crowd. Rough, aggressive shore-women, in checkered shawls and with
kerchiefs on their heads for hats, were competing restlessly for places
in the front line.

Among a group of older ones Rosario was stoutly defending her excellent
position on the sidewalk with her elbows and her knees. Had they seen
her Tonet? Not a "Jew" in the whole lot to compare with him! And in all
this enthusiasm for her handsome husband, the poor woman was still
rubbing the bruises he had inflicted on her that morning in the course
of getting his costume out and on. But suddenly Rosario felt a rude
shove which brushed her aside, while a compact, muscular female body
crowded into the place she had been occupying. She looked around. Did
any one ever hear of such brazen impudence! It was Dolores, leading
Pascualet by the hand! They had at last forced their way through the
crushing throng. The comely girl still had her usual pout of disdain as
she looked at people and carried herself with her habitual queenly
pride. The harlot! Yet how everybody made way for her and fawned upon
her in spite of her conceit!

To the exceeding alarm of _tia_ Picores, the two women stood there
frowning at each other angrily. Their reconciliation some days before in
the ice-cream place had been nothing but a truce. They had promised to
be good friends, but without much warmth, and one could see from the
looks in their eyes at the time that there would be trouble again soon.
Rosario, taken aback by the violence of the push that had displaced her,
rested content with a grimace. What nice manners some people had! Some
people wanted the earth with a fence around it! Gangway for Her Majesty
the Queen! Well, there are people and people in this world! And the
wrong sort reveal themselves--you don't have to bother to point them
out.

As the pale, sickly woman muttered on, her face grew redder and redder
with the intoxication of her own words. Her friends near by kept nudging
her, egging her on to stand her ground. Dolores, meanwhile, began to
toss her gorgeous head like a lioness preparing to cuff at a hornet
buzzing behind her back. However, the processions