"Yes."

"How much?"

"Twenty-five pesetas. I refused as long as I could. But what could I do?
Oh, if you'd seen him then, you wouldn't have known him. I was awfully
scared--thought he was going to kill me----"

As she said this, she covered her eyes with her hands. She seemed to be
shutting out from them, together with the ugly vision of what had just
happened, some other sight--the sight of something horrible, something
long-past, something quite the same.

Zureda, afraid of showing the tumultuous rage in his heart, said nothing
more. The most ominous memories crowded his mind. A long, long time ago,
before he had gone to jail, Don Tomas in the course of an unforgettable
conversation had told him that Manolo Berlanga maltreated Rafaela. And
all these years afterward, when he was once more a free man, Don Adolfo
had said the same thing about young Manolo. Remembering this strange
agreement of opinions, Amadeo Zureda felt a bitter and inextinguishable
hate against the whole race of the silversmith--a race accursed, it
seemed, which had come into the world only to hurt and wound him in his
dearest affections.

Next morning the old man, who had hardly slept more than an hour or two,
woke early.

"What time is it?" asked he.

Rafaela had already risen. She answered:

"Almost six."

"Has Manolo come back?"

"Not yet."

The old engineer got out of bed, dressed as usual and went down to his
shop. Rafaela kept watch on him. The apparent calm of the old man looked
suspicious. Noon came, and Manolo did not return for dinner. Night drew
on, nor did he come back to sleep. Zureda and his wife went to bed
early. A few days drifted along.

Sunday morning, Zureda was sitting at the door of his shop. It was just
eleven. Women, some with mantillas, others with but a simple kerchief
knotted about their heads, were going to mass. High up in the Gothic
steeple, the bells were swinging, gay and clangorous. A neighbor,
passing, said to the old engineer:

"Well, Manolo's showed up."

"When?" asked Zureda, phlegmatically.

"Last night."

"Where did you see him?"

"At Honorio's inn."

"A great one, that boy is! He's certainly some fine lad! Never came near
_me_!"

The day drew on, without anything happening. Cautiously the engineer
guarded against telling Rafaela that their son had returned. A little
while before supper, giving her the excuse that Don Adolfo was waiting
for him at the Casino, Zureda left the house