then seated
herself in front of the old man, who, for a great part of the afternoon,
had been sitting motionless and thoughtful in his easy chair. His
fingers supported his chin, wrinkling up the brown skin, unshaven for
the past three days.

"Did Caballuco say he would come here to supper to-night?" he asked his
niece.

"Yes, senor, he will come. It is in a respectable house like this that
the poor fellow is most secure."

"Well, I am not altogether easy in my mind, in spite of the
respectability of the house," answered the Penitentiary. "How the brave
Ramos exposes himself! And I am told that in Villahorrenda and the
surrounding country there are a great many men. I don't know how many
men----What have you heard?"

"That the soldiers are committing atrocities."

"It is a miracle that those Hottentots have not searched the house! I
declare that if I see one of the red-trousered gentry enter the house, I
shall fall down speechless."

"This is a nice condition of things!" said Remedios, exhaling half her
soul in a sigh. "I cannot get out of my head the idea of the tribulation
in which Senora Dona Perfecta finds herself. Uncle, you ought to go
there."

"Go there to-night? The military are parading the streets! Imagine that
some insolent soldier should take it into his head to----The senora is
well protected. The other day they searched the house and they carried
off the six armed men she had there; but afterward they sent them back
to her. We have no one to protect us in case of an attack."

"I sent Jacinto to the senora's, to keep her company for a while. If
Caballuco comes, we will tell him to stop in there, too. No one can
put it out of my head but that those rascals are plotting some piece of
villany against our friend. Poor senora, poor Rosarito! When one thinks
that this might have been avoided by what I proposed to Dona Perfecta
two days ago----"

"My dear niece," said the Penitentiary phlegmatically, "we have done all
that it was in human power to do to carry out our virtuous purpose.
More we cannot do. Convince yourself of this, and do not be obstinate.
Rosarito cannot be the wife of our idolized Jacintillo. Your golden
dream, your ideal of happiness, that at one time seemed attainable,
and to which like a good uncle, I devoted all the powers of my
understanding, has become chimerical, has vanished into smoke. Serious
obstructions, the wickedness of a man, the indubitable love of the girl,
and other