"What is of importance for Nieva is to have a decent road, a decent road, I say. The line from Miramar would be our ruin, for it ties us to Sarrió, which, as you know very well, has far greater importance as a commercial town and a seaport town than we have. In a few years it would swallow us like a cherry-stone. Moreover, you must take into account that as it is fifteen kilometers from the junction to Nieva, and only twelve to Sarrió; trade would not fail to select the latter point for exportation, on account of the saving in the rate, for those three kilometers of difference. On the other hand, the line from Sotolongo offers the great advantage of uniting us to Pinarrubio, which can never enter into rivalry with us; and at the same time it decidedly shortens the distance to the junction, bringing it down to thirteen kilometers. The difference in the rates, therefore, is a mere trifle, not sufficient to induce trade to go to Sarrió. If you add to this the fact that sooner or later—"
A violent coughing fit cut short Don Mariano's discourse. He was a large, tall man, with white beard and hair, the beard very abundant. His black eyes gleamed like those of a boy, and in his ruddy cheeks time had not succeeded in ploughing deep furrows. Doubtless he had been one of the most gallant young men of his day, and even as we find him now, he still attracted attention by his genial and venerable countenance, and by his noble athletic figure. The violence of his cough had a powerful effect on his sanguine complexion, and he grew exceedingly red in the face. After he had stopped coughing, he resumed the thread of his discourse.
"If you add to the fact that sooner or later we shall have a good port, either in El Moral or in Nieva itself,—for the war isn't going to last forever, nor is the government going to leave us always in the condition of pariahs,—you will see at once what an impulse will be instantly given to the trade of the town and how soon we shall put Sarrió into the shade."
"Well, well, I agree that the line from Sotolongo offers certain advantages; but you very well know that neither at the present time, nor for many days to come, can we do anything but dream about that one, while the road from Miramar is in our very hands. The government is deeply interested in it because there is no other means of protecting our gun-factory. You certainly realize that if the Carlists succeeded in breaking the line of Somosierra, they would overrun us and make themselves at home; they would take the arms on hand, dismantle the factory, and without the slightest risk they could set out for the valley of Cañedo. At present there is no danger of their breaking the line; I grant that, but who can guarantee what the future may bring forth? Moreover, may not the day come when the Carlist element which we have here will raise its head? Then if there were a railroad, no matter from what point, nothing would be more easy than to set down here in a couple of hours four or five thousand men—"
"In the first place, Don Maximo, a military railroad, as you yourself confess that the one from Miramar is to be, is not such as we have the right to ask of the nation. We need a genuine railroad, suitable for the promotion of our interests, and not to serve merely for the protection of a factory. Just consider that it is a work to last for all time, and that if from its very inception it suffers from a gross mistake, this mistake will hang forever over our town. In the second place, the Carlists will never get beyond Somosierra. As to their raising their heads here, you understand perfectly well that it is impossible because they have very few elements to rely on—and, as to their doing this—"
"I have reason to believe that they are! We must be on the watch, and not be found napping. And, as a final reason, a sparrow in the hand is worth more than a hundred flying.—But tell me, Don Mariano, to change the subject, have the stables been put in order yet?"
Don Mariano, instead of replying, felt in all the pockets of his coat with a distracted air, and not finding what he was looking for, turned towards a corner of the room.
"Martita, come here!"
A young girl who was seated at one end of a sofa, not talking to anybody, came running to him. She might have been thirteen or fourteen years old, but the proportions of a woman grown were very distinctly observable in her. Nevertheless, she wore short dresses. She had a light complexion, with black hair and eyes, but her countenance did not offer the exasperating expression so commonly met with in faces of that kind. The features could not have been more regular and their tout ensemble could not have been more harmonious; nevertheless, her beauty lacked animation. It was what is commonly called a cold face.
"Listen, daughter: go to my room, open the second drawer on the left-hand side of my writing-table, and bring me the cigar-case which you'll find there."