“AREN’T you going to Los Pedroches?” Remedios asked Quentin one day. The two sisters and the old woman were sewing in the drawing-room.

“What’s doing there?” he asked.

“The Candelaria Picnic,” answered Rafaela.

“Are you going?”

“Yes, I believe so. We are going with our cousins.”

Quentin fell silent for a moment.

“Aren’t you going?” Remedios asked again.

“I? No. I don’t know any one.”

“Don’t you know us?” she asked.

“Yes; but I’d bother you....”

“Why?” asked Rafaela pleasantly.

“And if I did not bother you, I should be certain to annoy your cousins; perhaps they wouldn’t like me to bow to you.”

Rafaela became silent; implying, though perhaps unwittingly, that what Quentin had said might be true. So, somewhat embarrassed, he said:

“What do they do there?”

“Not much nowadays,” answered the old woman. “There are a few dances and supper parties ... but the best thing about it used to be the return home: it[146] was the custom for every lad to bring a lass back to town on his horse’s croup.”

“Has that custom died out?” asked Quentin.

“Yes.”

“Why don’t they still follow it?”

“On account of the fights they had coming back,” answered the old woman. “Boys, and men too, took to scaring the horses, and some of the riders fell off and began to fight furiously with both fists and guns.”

“You seem to know all about it,” said Rafaela to the old woman. “Have you ever been in Los Pedroches?”

“Yes; with a sweetheart of mine who carried me behind him on his horse.”

“My! What a rascal!... What a rascal!” exclaimed Rafaela.

“When we reached Malmuerta,” the old servant continued, “they frightened our horse, so my sweetheart, who had a short fowling-piece on his saddle, made as if to shoot it, and the people couldn’t get away fast enough....”

 

Quentin decided to go to the picnic.

“I’m going to Los Pedroches, mother,” he said to Fuensanta.

“That’s good, my son,” she replied, “go out and have a good time.”

“To tell you the truth, I haven’t any money.”

“I’ll give you what you need; and I’ll find you some riding clothes, too.”

Quentin hired a big horse with a cowboy saddle; then, following his mother’s instructions, he put on a short jacket covered with ribbons and braid, fringed leggings,[147] a tasseled shawl across the saddle bow, and a broad-brimmed hat.

He mounted at the door of his house. He was a good horseman, and as he jumped into the saddle, he made his horse rear. He brought him down at once, waved to his mother who was on the balcony, and rode off at a smart pace.

He went out through the Puerta de Osario to the Campo de la Merced, under the Arco de la Malmuerta and turned his horse’s head toward the Carrera de la Fuensantilla. There he noticed the unusual exodus of people making their way in groups toward Los Pedroches.

It was a splendid February afternoon. The sun poured down like a golden rain upon the green countryside, and smiled in the fields of new wheat which were dotted with red flowers and yellow buds. Here and there a dark hut or a stack of straw surmounted by a cross arose in the broad expanse of cultivated lands.

Quentin rode swiftly along the highway, which was bordered at intervals by large, grey century-plants, from among whose pulpous branches rose flocks of chirping birds.

He reached the picnic-grounds: a meadow near the Los Pedroches ravine. The people were scattered over the meadow in groups. The bright and showy dresses of the girls shone in the sun afar off against the green background of the field. As Quentin drew near the fiesta-grounds, some groups were eating supper, and others were playing the guitar and dancing.

In some places, where the dancers were doubtless experts, curious onlookers crowded about them. An old[148] man with side-whiskers was playing the guitar with great skill, and a dancer in a narrow-waisted suit was pursuing his graceful partner with his arms held high in the air; and one could hear the clacking of castanets, and the encouraging applause of the onlookers.

It was a peaceful happiness, dignified and serene. Girls in showy dresses, Manilla shawls, and with flowers in their hair, were strolling about, accompanied by sour-visaged due?as and proud youths.

A little apart from the centre of the picnic, the more wealthy families were lunching peacefully; while little boys and girls were screeching as they swung in the swings hung from the trees.

There were vendors of oranges and apples and walnuts and chestnuts; and taffy women with their little booths of sweets and brandy.

Quentin went around the grounds looking all about him, searching for his cousins; and at last, in a little unpopulated grove, he caught sight of them among a group of several boys and girls.

Remedios recognized Quentin when he was still some distance away, and waving her hand at him, she rose to meet him. Quentin rode up to her.

“Where are you going?” the girl inquired.

“For a little ride.”

“Do you want a cake?”

“If you will give....”

“Come on.”

Quentin dismounted, walked up to the group, gave his hand to Rafaela, and greeted the others with a bow. Undoubtedly Rafaela had informed her friends who the horseman was, for Quentin noticed that several of the girls looked at him curiously.[149]

He took the cake that Remedios gave him, and a glass of wine.

“Won’t you sit down?” Rafaela asked him.

“Thank you, no. I’m going for a ride along the mountain.”

As he drew near Rafaela, Quentin noticed the look of hatred that one of the young men present cast at him.

“He’s a rival,” he thought.

From that instant, the two boys were consumed with hatred for each other. The young man was tall, blond, with a certain rusticity about him in spite of his elegant clothes. Quentin heard them call him Juan de Dios. The youth spoke in a rather uncultured manner, converting his s’s into z’s, his r’s into l’s, and vice versa. He gazed fixedly at Rafaela, and from time to time said to her:

“Why don’t you drink a little something?”

Rafaela thanked him with a smile. Among the girls were Rafaela’s two cousins; the elder, María de los Angeles, had a nose like a parrot, green pop-eyes, and a salient under lip; Transito, the younger, was better looking, but her expression, which was half haughty and half indifferent, did not captivate one’s sympathies. Like her sister, she had green eyes, and thin lips with a strange curve to them that gave her a cruel expression.

Transito questioned Quentin in a bantering and sarcastic tone; he replied to her pleasantly, with feigned modesty, and in purposely broken Spanish. Presently he announced his intention of going.

“What, are you going?” asked Rafaela.

“Yes.”

“Are you afraid of us?” said Transito.[150]

“Afraid of being enchanted,” replied Quentin gallantly, as he bowed and went in search of his horse.

“Wait! Take me on the croup,” Remedios shouted.

“No, no; you’ll fall,” said Rafaela.

“No, I won’t,” replied the child.

“The horse is gentle,” Quentin put in.

“Very well then; you may take her for a while.”

Quentin mounted rapidly, and Remedios climbed upon the step of the carriage that stood near. Quentin rode up to her and stuck out his left foot for her to use as a support. The little girl stepped upon it, and seizing Quentin about the waist, leaped to the horse’s croup and threw her arms about the rider.

“See how well I do it,” said she to her sister, who was fearfully watching these man?uvres.

“I see well enough.”

“Where shall we go?” Quentin asked the girl.

“Right through the picnic-grounds.”

They rode among the groups; the arrogance of the rider............