“We all know already what your boasting and bragging signify,” replied Doña Perfecta. “Poor Ramos! You want to pretend to be very brave when we have already had proof that you are not worth any thing.”
Ramos turned slightly pale, while he fixed on Doña Perfecta a strange look in which terror and respect were blended.
“Yes, man; don’t look at me in that way. You know already that I am not afraid of bugaboos. Do you want me to speak plainly to you now? Well, you are a coward.”
Ramos, moving about restlessly in his chair, like one who is troubled with the itch, seemed greatly disturbed. His nostrils expelled and drew in the air, like those of a horse. Within that massive frame a storm of rage and fury, roaring and destroying, struggled to escape. After stammering a few words and muttering others under his breath, he rose to his feet and bellowed:
“I will cut off the head of Señor Rey!”
“What folly! You are as brutal as you are cowardly,” said Doña Perfecta, turning pale. “Why do you talk about killing? I want no one killed, much less my nephew—a person whom I love, in spite of his wickedness.”
“A homicide! What an atrocity!” exclaimed Don Inocencio, scandalized. “The man is mad!”
“To kill! The very idea of killing a man horrifies me, Caballuco,” said Doña Perfecta, closing her mild eyes. “Poor man! Ever since you have been wanting to show your bravery, you have been howling like a ravening wolf. Go away, Ramos; you terrify me.”
“Doesn’t the mistress say she is afraid? Doesn’t she say that they will attack the house; that they will carry off the young lady?”
“Yes, I fear so.”