Our deliberations continued a little longer. Castell was accustomed to depart at eleven, and he asked me politely if I wished to do the same. I agreed, as was proper, since the family would wish to retire, and we betook ourselves to the city. During the ride I had occasion to think once more that it was an error of nature that I had hair on my face, and that instead of a hat I should have covered my childish thoughts with a thick hood. That gentleman, penetrating into the secret laboratory of life, arranged the facts of being in his mind, taking pains to pit his ideas against my inexperienced reasonings; sometimes yawning, again smilingly pardoning my puerilities. Take it all together, he handled me so well that, in consequence, I could feel a real hood on my head. But that which stirred me up most was his gracious manner of considering me a man; and the recognition of this attitude towards me irritated me more than ever, and I swore between my teeth that I would never ride again in his cab, but would, instead, go on my own feet.
Next day, solemnly attired in a coat which had made the voyage to America eleven times and to Hamburg thirty-seven, I presented myself at the Retamoso house. It was situated on the Plaza del Mercado, not far from the Lorija, and was more substantial than beautiful, of modern construction, only one floor above the business rooms, with a plain front destitute of ornamental carvings, with three large doors and three little stone balconies. But it was much more spacious than its exterior promised. Its warerooms, occupying the corner part, were large and high as the salons of a palace. Great piles of codfish, barrels of flour and of alcohol, cases of sugar and cocoa filled it, forming narrow and intricate passages. Through these I went, half-suffocated by the distasteful odors of these products of overseas, and preceded by a clerk with a pen behind his ear, until I reached the back of the room, where there were three glass doors, giving upon a patio. Near one of these was a low railing of pine, painted green; in the middle, a single table and a big desk; and behind the table and the desk, a little man with an embroidered velvet skull-cap. It was himself, Señor Retamoso.
"Señor de Ribot! What good fortune is this?" he exclaimed, rising to come out of the enclosure, making numberless bows, and lifting his hand as many times more to his skull-cap. "To what do we owe the honor?"
"I wish to speak a few words to you," I answered, casting a significant glance at the clerk, who, understanding, disappeared in the zigzag passages.
The face of Señor Retamoso underwent an enormous change. The delight that had overspread it was swiftly succeeded by a deep sadness. It was as if a cloud had intercepted in an unexpected fashion the rays of life and warmth, withering and drying up that which a moment before had been joyous welcome.
"Very well. I will be with you in a moment," he murmured, re-entering the enclosure, carefully locking the safe and putting the key in his trousers pocket.
This done, he came out and, facing me, said in a glacial way:
"This good man thinks I have come to beg money," I said to myself, surprised at this change.
"The occasion of this visit," I said with hesitation, "is a little delicate. It is possible that you know."