d that with a pin."

"That's too bad! Take care of yourself, little lady!"

Manolo Berlanga was there and heard all this. He had to bite his
mustache to hide a wicked laugh; but the engineer saw nothing at all.
The poor man suspected nothing. He remained quite blind. Even if he had
not loved Rafaela, his adoration of the boy would have been enough to
fill his eyes with dust.

IV

Truth, however, is mighty and will prevail. After a while Zureda began
to observe that something odd was going on about him. Slowly and without
knowing why, he found a sort of distance separating him from his
companions, who treated him and looked at him in a new way. You would
almost have said they were trying to extort from his eyes the confession
of some risque secret he was doubtless keeping well covered up and
hidden; a secret everybody knew. A complex sentiment of curiosity and
silence isolated him from his friends and seemed to befog him with
inexplicable ridicule. After a while he grew much puzzled by this
phenomenon.

"I wonder if I've changed?" thought he. "Maybe I'm sick, without knowing
it. Or can it be that I'm mighty ugly, and nobody dares to tell me so?"

Not far from the station, and near Manzanares Street, there was an
eating-house where the porters, engineers and firemen were wont to
foregather. This establishment belonged to Senor Tomas, who in his youth
had been a toreador. The aplomb and force, as well as the
stout-heartedness of that brave, gay profession still remained his.
Senor Tomas talked very little, and for those who knew him well his
words had the authority of print. He was a tall old fellow, with
powerful hands and shoulders; he wore velveteen trousers and little
Andalusian jackets of black stuff; and over the sash with which he
masked his growing girth he strapped a wide leather belt with a silver
buckle.

One evening Senor Tomas was enjoying the air at the door of his
eating-house when Zureda passed by. The tavern-keeper beckoned the
engineer; and when Zureda had come near, looked fixedly into his eyes
and said:

"You and I have got to have a few words."

Zureda remained dumb. The secret, chill vibration of an evil
presentiment had passed like a cold wind through his heart. Presently
recovering speech, he answered:

"Any time you say so."

They reentered the tavern, which just then was almost without patrons. A
high wooden shelf, painted red and covered with bottles, ran about the
room. O