to be said. Long live Orbajosa! death
to Madrid!"

And he brought his hand down on the table with such violence that the
floor shook.

"What a valiant spirit!" said Don Inocencio.

"What a fist you have!"

Every one was looking at the table, which had been split in two by the
blow.

Then they looked at the never-enough-to-be-admired Renialdos or
Caballuco. Undoubtedly there was in his handsome countenance, in his
green eyes animated by a strange, feline glow, in his black hair, in his
herculean frame, a certain expression and air of grandeur--a trace, or
rather a memory, of the grand races that dominated the world. But his
general aspect was one of pitiable degeneration, and it was difficult to
discover the noble and heroic filiation in the brutality of the present.
He resembled Don Cayetano's great men as the mule resembles the horse.

CHAPTER XXIII

MYSTERY

The conference lasted for some time longer, but we omit what followed as
not being necessary to a clear understanding of our story. At last they
separated, Senor Don Inocencio remaining to the last, as usual. Before
the canon and Dona Perfecta had had time to exchange a word, an elderly
woman, Dona Perfecta's confidential servant and her right hand, entered
the dining-room, and her mistress, seeing that she looked disturbed and
anxious, was at once filled with disquietude, suspecting that something
wrong was going on in the house.

"I can't find the senorita anywhere," said the servant, in answer to her
mistress' questions.

"Good Heavens--Rosario! Where is my daughter?"

"Virgin of Succor protect us!" cried the Penitentiary, taking up his hat
and preparing to hurry out with Dona Perfecta.

"Search for her well. But was she not with you in her room?"

"Yes, senora," answered the old woman, trembling, "but the devil tempted
me, and I fell asleep."

"A curse upon your sleep! What is this? Rosario, Rosario! Librada!"

They went upstairs and came down again, they went up a second time
and came down again; carrying a light and looking carefully in all the
rooms. At last the voice of the Penitentiary was heard saying joyfully
from the stairs:

"Here she is, here she is! She has been found."

A moment later mother and daughter were standing face to face in the
hall.

"Where were you?" asked Dona Perfecta, in a severe voice, scrutinizing
her daughter's face closely.

"In the garden," answered the girl, more dead than alive.

"In the garden