Our hero's imagination began to whirl faster than a wheel, and he was lost in a sea of conjectures; but he did not have the courage to ask what it all meant, although his curiosity was terribly piqued: he understood that such a question would be indiscreet. Not that he gave up the idea of finding out, but merely postponed it till a more fitting occasion.
Breakfast was finished without anything happening to require the use of the deadly weapon which Señor de Rivera kept at his right hand; and this might have been expected, since at one o'clock in the day it is not common for robbers to break into houses.
The conversation was general, although the two elders seldom addressed each other, Uncle Manolo especially, taking evident pains completely to ignore his wife.
She, on the other hand, kept caroming phrases at him indirectly wounding and pinching him, while talking with Miguel.
The chivalrous caballero, when the charge hurt him, would give a wrathful look at his sweet enemy; and as she managed very cleverly to avoid it, he would shake his head in sign of wrath, and make an expressive face at his nephew, and then give his attention to what was in front of him.
When breakfast was over, Miguel took leave of his aunt very courteously, and after going back to his Uncle Manolo's room to help the old man put on his coat, they went into the street together.
As soon as they were fairly out of doors, Señor Rivera's ill-humor and the melancholy that had grown upon him during the last third of the meal vanished as by magic; he pulled out his case, gave Miguel a cigar, and lighted another, beginning to puff with satisfaction, while they were passing along San Jeronimo Avenue.
Miguel, however, could not keep the revolver out of his thoughts, and he was possessed to unravel the mystery concealed in it. When they had turned the corner of the Calle de la Puebla, he stopped a moment, and asked him boldly:—
"See here, uncle, though you may call me indiscreet, I am going to ask you a question, because I can no longer stand the torment of curiosity.... What the deuce is the meaning of that revolver that you had beside your plate while you were at breakfast?"
On hearing this, the ex-gentil caballero's face once more darkened; he bent his head until his beard touched his breast, and began to walk on again without saying a word. After a considerable time he heaved a deep and most pitiable sigh, and began to speak in a low voice:—