THE afternoon of the following day, Quentin went to the Calle del Sol to see his grandfather, according to his promise to Rafaela. There was a carriage at the door. Juan, with his hat in his hand, was talking to an elegant lady with black eyes.

“Do you mean to say I cannot go in?” said she unpleasantly.

“The Se?oritas have told me that they were not at home to any one.”

“Not even to me?”

“Those are my orders.”

“Very well. I shall wait until my husband comes.”

“It will be useless,” said Juan emphatically.

“Why?” asked she haughtily.

“Because the Se?or Marqués told me that he does not wish to see you.”

The woman made no reply.

“Home!” she said to the coachman angrily.

Quentin went up to Juan.

“What’s up? May I not come in?” he asked.

“You may, of course,” replied the gardener, “but not that designing hussy.”

“Who is she?”

“The Countess. After saying all sorts of monstrous[223] things about Rafaela and her grandfather, the hussy comes here to boast of her charity.”

“How is the Se?or Marqués?”

“Very bad.”

“Has his illness been aggravated, or is it following its natural course?”

“It has been aggravated.... And meanwhile, the Count—do you know what he’s doing? Well, he’s selling everything he can lay his hands on. He’s even sold the lead pipes and the paving stones in the stable, which he tore up with his own hands. I tell you it’s a shame....”

“Why don’t they stop him?”

“Who is there to do it? It’s very sad. While the master is in bed, the second-hand men come and cart everything away. They’ve removed tapestries, bronzes, the gilt writing-desks that were in the hall, the sideboard, the dressing tables ... and that shrewd female, who knows all about the business, wants to come and take part in the robbery. One can say nothing to the Count; but to that wicked woman, it’s different. If you could see her! I don’t see how she dares look at me after what has happened between us.”

“Between whom? You and her?”

“Sí, Se?or. Have they never told you?”

“No.”

“Well, you know I have a son, who, though not so much to look at now, was several years ago a very beautiful child, whiter than snow, and with a pair of cheeks just bursting with blood. Moreover, he was strong, healthy, and very innocent. Well, pretty soon the lad began to get pale, and thin, and black circles appeared under his eyes. His mother and I wondered what was[224] the matter with him, and what his trouble was. But it was useless; we were unable to understand what was going on, until one night the coachman saw him climbing about the roof. The man hid himself and found out everything. At that time the Countess lived here with her husband, and my son was on his way to her. When I told the Marquis what was happening, he went and loaded a pistol, and was for shooting his daughter-in-law. But she, the shrewd thing, came to me and said: ‘If you need anything for your son, let me know.’—‘Se?ora,’ I answered, ‘you are a very vicious woman, and my son shall never see you again.’”