After the barber had been dismissed, Miguel was anxious to hear from his uncle something about his domestic life, since la intendenta's aggressive words did not pass from his memory. He began by circumlocutions so as to bring the conversation to the point desired; but when he reached it, his Uncle Manolo restrained him with a gesture full of dignity.
"Not a word about my wife, Miguel!"
He majestically extended his arm, scowled terribly, and his perfumed locks waved above his immortal head.
Miguel understood well by signs that the relations between his uncle and aunt could not be very cordial, and he made up his mind to watch them in silence.
"Come to breakfast," said Señor Don Manolo de Rivera, looking at his watch. "You will breakfast with us, will you not?"
"I have just had breakfast, uncle."
"Very well; then come and see us eat, and we will go out together."
They went to the dining-room, where the señora was waiting them, and husband and wife sat down at opposite sides of the table, while the nephew ensconced himself in a chair not far from them.
But one thing instantly threw him into a state of stupefaction, and that was to see beside his uncle's plate, on the cloth, a large and magnificent six-shooter.
And his amazement increased when he saw his uncle push it away a little as though it were the tumbler, the napkin-ring, or any other of the indispensable paraphernalia of the service; and still more, to see his aunt pay no attention to it, but begin calmly to eat her boiled eggs as though this were the most natural thing in the world.