QUENTIN got up late, ate his breakfast and wrote several letters to his friends in England. In the evening he looked through the amusement section of the paper and saw that there was to be an entertainment in the Café del Recreo.

He asked Palomares where this café was, and was told that it was on the Calle del Arco Real, a street that ran into Las Tendillas.

The constant irritation in Quentin’s mind troubled him so, that he calmly decided to get drunk.

“Tell me,” he said to the waiter after seating himself at a table in the café, “what refreshments have you?”

“We have currants, lemons, blackberries, and French ice-cream.”

“Fine! Bring me a bottle of cognac.”

The waiter brought his order, filled his glass, and was about to remove the bottle.

“No, no; leave it here.”

“Aren’t you going to see the show?” asked the waiter with obsequious familiarity. “They are giving La Isla de San Balandrán: it’s very amusing.”

“I’ll see.”

After Quentin had emptied several glasses, he began to feel heartened, and ready for any folly. At a near-by table several men were talking about an actress who took[172] the principal part in a musical comedy that had just been put on. One with a very loud voice was dragging the actress’ name through the mire.

This man was extremely fat; a kind of a sperm whale, with the bulging features of a dropsical patient, a shiny skin, and the voice of a eunuch. He had a microscopic nose that was lost between his two chubby cheeks, which were a pale yellow; his hatchet-shaped whiskers were so black that they seemed painted with ink; his stiff, bluish hair grew low on his forehead, with a peak above the eyebrows. He wore diamonds upon his bosom, rings upon his pudgy fingers, and, to cap his offensiveness, he was smoking a kilometric cigar with a huge band.

The bearing, the voice, the diamonds, the cigar, the waddling, and the laughter of that man set Quentin’s blood afire to such an extent, that rising and striking the table where the whale was talking to his friends, he shouted:

“Everything you say is a lie!”

“Are you the woman’s brother or husband?” inquired the obese gentleman, staring into space and stroking his black sideburns with his much bediamonded hand.

“I am nothing of hers,” replied Quentin; “I don’t know her, and I don’t want to know her; but I do know that everything you say is a lie.”

“Pay no attention to him,” said one of the fat man’s companions; “he’s drunk.”

“Well, he’d better look out, or I’ll strike him with my stick.”

“You’ll strike me with your stick!” exclaimed Quentin. “Ha ... ha ... ha!... But have you ever looked into a mirror?... You really are most repulsive, my friend![173]”

The fat man, before such an insult to his appearance, rose and endeavoured to reach Quentin, but his friends restrained him. Quentin quickly removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves, ready to box.

“Evohé! Evohé!” he thundered. “Come who will! One by one, two by two, every one against me!”

A thin, blond man with blue eyes and a golden beard, stepped up to him; not as though to fight, but with a smile.

“What do you want?” Quentin asked him rudely.

“Oh! Don’t you remember Paul Springer, the son of the Swiss watch-maker?”

“Is that you, Paul?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“Because I should have liked it had it been the fat man or one of his friends, so I could have cut him open with my fist.”

“I see that you are just as crazy as ever.”

“I, crazy? I’m one of the few people on this planet in their right senses! Moreover, I have decided to become a man of action. Believe me!”

“I can’t believe anything of you now, my lad. What you ought to do is to put on your coat and go to bed. Come, I’ll go with you.”

Quentin assented, and went home with his friend.

“We’ll see each other again, won’t we?” said the Swiss.

“Yes.”

“Then, until another day.”

They took leave of each other. Quentin remained in his doorway.[174]

“I’m not going in,” he said to himself. “Am I not a man of action? Well, adelante! Where can I go? I’ll go and see Se?ora Patrocinio. I’ll take a few turns about here until my head is a little clearer....”

He knocked at the house in Los Tejares, and the door was immediately opened to him.

“Ah! Is it you?” said the old woman, as she lifted the candle to see who it was.

“Yes, it is I.”

“Come in.”

The old woman lit the lamp in the same room on the lower floor that Don Gil Sabadía and Quentin had occupied.

“What’s the matter?” asked Se?ora Patrocinio. “Do you need money?”

“No. Do you, too, wish to offend me?”

“No; I just wanted to give you some.”

“Thanks very much! You are the only person who takes any interest in me—why, I don’t know.... I have come to see you tonight because I am unhappy.”

“I know.... Rafaela is going to get married.”

“And how do you know that that is the reason for my unhappiness?”

“Nothing is secret from me. You liked her, but you will get over it soon. She was fond of you, too.”

“Do you think ...?”

“Yes; but the poor girl had a bad beginning in life, and does well not to get mixed up in adventures; for the majority of men aren’t even worth the trouble of looking in the face. Still, what her sweetheart did was disgraceful. Rafaela was brought up weakly,—too carefully guarded; then she began to grow quite happy, what with taking care of her mother and her betrothal.[175] Then her mother died; her father remarried immediately; in a few months it began to be rumoured that her family was on the verge of ruin, and her sweetheart skipped out. Think of it! The poor abandoned girl began to turn yellow, and thought she was going to die. I believe that she owes her cure to the trouble her younger sister gave her.”

“Yes; I understand that she has no faith in men. Probably I ought not to have paid any attention to the fact,” Quentin added ingenuously. “But won’t this Juan de Dios make her suffer?”

“No. He’s coarse, but good at heart. What are you going to do?”

“I! I don’t know. We live in such a contemptible epoch. If I had been born in Napoleon’s time! God! I’d either be dead by now or else on the road to a generalship.”

“Would you have enlisted with Napoleon?”

“Rather!”

“And would you have fought against your own country?”

“Against the whole world.”

“But not against Spain.”

“Especially against Spain. It would be pretty nice to enter these towns defended by their walls and their conventionalities against everything that is noble and human, and raze them to the ground. To shoot all these flat-nosed, pious fakers and poor quality hidalgos; to set fire to all of the churches, and to violate all the nuns....”

“You’ve been drinking, Quentin.”

“I? I’m as calm as a bean plant, which is the calmest vegetable there is, according to the botanists.[176]”

“You must not talk like that of your native land in front of me.”

“Are you a patriot?”

“With all my heart. Aren’t you?”

“I am a citizen of the world.”

“It seems to me that you’ve been drinking, Quentin.”

“No; believe me.”

“I say this to you,” added the old woman after a long pause, “because for me, this is a solemn moment. I have told no one the story of my life until this moment.”

“The devil! What is she going to tell me?” mumbled Quentin.

“Are you vengeful?” asked the old woman.

“I?”

Quentin was not sure whether he was vengeful or not, but the old woman took his exclamation for one of assent.

“Then you shall avenge me, Quentin, and your family. We are of the same blood. Your grandfather, the Marquis of Tavera, and I are brother and sister.”
............