“And one man is going to do that,” said Ramos contemptuously, sitting down again, “Don Pepe Poquita Cosa, with his mathematics, is going to do that. I did wrong in saying I would slit his throat. A doll of that kind one takes by the ear and ducks in the river.”
“Yes, laugh now, you fool! It is not my nephew alone who is going to commit the outrages you have mentioned and which I fear; if it were he alone I should not fear him. I would tell Librada to stand at the door with a broom—and that would be sufficient. It is not he alone, no!”
“Who then?”
“Pretend you don’t understand! Don’t you know that my nephew and the brigadier who commands that accursed troop have been confabulating?”
“Confabulating!” repeated Caballuco, as if puzzled by the word.
“That they are bosom friends,” said Licurgo. “Confabulate means to be like bosom friends. I had my suspicions already of what the mistress says.”
“It all amounts to this—that the brigadier and the officers are hand and glove with Don José, and what he wants those brave soldiers want; and those brave soldiers will commit all kinds of outrages and atrocities, because that is their trade.”
“And we have no alcalde to protect us.”
“Nor judge.”
“Nor governor. That is to say that we are at the mercy of that infamous rabble.”