IT was very convenient for Quentin to have Pacheco in Cordova. The latter carried on the conspiracy as smoothly as silk; he had come to an understanding with the secretary of the Count of Do?a Mencia, who was expecting to contribute the money realized from a sale of some Government bonds in Madrid. It was also convenient for Quentin to have Pacheco agitate the people; if the agitation was successful, he would profit by it; if not, he would peacefully retire.

Some days later, Quentin had not yet arisen when Pacheco presented himself at his house. María Lucena’s mother opened the door and conducted him into the bedroom.

“Don’t get up,” said Pacheco. “Stay right in bed.”

“What’s doing? What brings you here?”

“I came this early because I did not want to meet any one in the streets; it might prove to be a provocation. I talked with one of the members of the Junta, and he assured me again that I have no need to be afraid, that they will not arrest me; then he asked me if I had any plan, any project, and I told him that I couldn’t explain as yet. Understand? Now the result is that some of them think that I have the Revolution all prepared.”

“That’s funny,” said Quentin.[306]

“What shall I do?”

“The first thing you ought to do, is to get that money from the Count.”

“They are going to give it to me this week.”

“Good; then go on buying arms and organizing a following.”

“Right in Cordova?”

“Yes; but without showing yourself in the streets; let every man stay in his house. We must figure out our strength, and wait for the proper opportunity.”

“And then—”

“Then, circumstances will tell us what to do. If it suits us to start a row now, why we’ll start it; if we have to shoot a few guns in the streets tomorrow, why, we’ll shoot them. Nobody knows what may happen. The troops are out there on the bridge, and messages and letters and packages come and go. The idea in the city is to be strong, and to keep hidden.”

“So I must go ahead and recruit?”

“Of course.”

“All right. I’m living outside of the town now, in a hut on the Campo de la Verdad; you see I don’t like to stay in the city.”

“You have done well.”

“The house faces the river, and has a horseshoe over the vestibule. Come and see me tomorrow.”

“At what time?”

“In the afternoon.”

“I’ll be there.”

During the subsequent days, Quentin went every afternoon to Pacheco’s house in the Campo de la Verdad; sat down in a cloth-bottomed rocking-chair; put his feet on the window sill, and smoked his pipe.[307]

He listened to the conversation, and gazed indifferently at the town.

Through his half-closed eyes he saw the half-ruined gate of the bridge; beyond, and above it, rose the grey walls of the Mosque, with their serrated battlements; above these walls hung the dark cupola of the cathedral, and the graceful tower rose glistening in the sun, with the angel on its peak inlayed in the huge sapphire of the sky.

On one side of the bridge, the Alcázar garden displayed its tall, dark cypresses, and its short shrub-like orange trees; then the Roman Wall, grey, spotted with the dusty green of parasite weeds, continued toward the left, and stretched on, cut here and there by cubes of rock, as far as the Cementerio de la Salud.

On the other side, the houses of the Calle de la Ribera formed a semi-circle, following the horseshoe bend of the river, which flowed on as though trying to undermine the town.

These houses, which were reflected in the surface of the river—a serpent of ever changing colour—were small, grey, and crooked. Upon their walls, which were continuously calcined by the sun, grew dark-coloured ivy; between their garden walls blossomed prickly pears with huge intertwined and pulpy leaves; and from their patios and corrals peeped the cup-shaped tops of cypress trees and the branches of silver-leafed fig trees.

Their roofs were grey, dirty, heaped one above the other; with azoteas, look-outs, and little towers; a growth of hedge mustard converted some of them into green meadows.

Beyond these houses the broken line of the roofs of the town was silhouetted against the crystal blue sky.[308] This line was interrupted here and there by a tower, and reached as far as the river, where it ended in a few blue and rose houses near the Martos mill.

Some bell or other was clanging almost continuously. Quentin listened to them sleepily and drowsily, watching the hazy sky, and the river of ever-changing colour.

Pacheco’s house had a room with a window that looked out on the other side: upon a little square where a few tramps peacefully sunned themselves.

Among them was one who interested Quentin. This fellow wore a red kerchief on his head, side-burns that reached the tips of his ears, and a large, ragged sash. He used to sit on a stone bench, and, his face resting in his hand, would study the actions and movements of a cock with flame-coloured plumage.

This observer of the cock was at the same time the pedagogue of the feathered biped, which must have had its serious difficulties, to judge by the reflective attitude which the man struck at times.

Quentin listened to what they said in the meetings that went on about him.

How far away his thoughts were in some instances! From time to time, Pacheco, or one of the conspirators put a question to him which he answered mechanically. His silence was taken for reflection.

Quentin excited the bandit’s self-esteem. He was waiting for the time when they would get the Count’s money so that he could take his share and skip off to Madrid. He did not wish this intention of his to become known, so he gave the bandit to understand that he wanted the money for revolutionary purposes only.

Every day Quentin played at the Casino and lost. He had bad luck. He had become tied up with [309]money-lenders and was signing I. O. U.’s at eighty percent, with the healthy intention of never paying them.

After conferring with all the rowdies that came to see him, Pacheco consulted with Quentin. The bandit had romantic aspirations; at night he read books which narrated the stories of great battles; this stirred him up, and made him believe that he was a man born for a great purpose.

“Do you know what I’ve been thinking?” Pacheco said one afternoon to Quentin.

“What?”

“That if I have my people organized beforehand in order to win the battle of Alcolea, I shall become master of the town.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Quentin told him. “You aren’t strong enough for that.”

“No? You’ll see. I have more followers in the city than you think I have.”

“But you have............