“What is the news? Give us the news, Señor Ramos,” said the priest. “Come! If you don’t give us some hope in exchange for your supper and our hospitality——What is going on in Villahorrenda?”
“Something,” answered the bravo, seating himself with signs of fatigue. “You shall soon see whether we are good for anything or not.”
Like all persons who wish to make themselves appear important, Caballuco made a show of great reserve.
“To-night, my friend, you shall take with you, if you wish, the money they have given me for—”
“There is good need of it. If the soldiers should get scent of it, however, they won’t let me pass,” said Ramos, with a brutal laugh.
“Hold your tongue, man. We know already that you pass whenever you please. Why, that would be a pretty thing! The soldiers are not strait-laced gentry, and if they should become troublesome, with a couple of dollars, eh? Come, I see that you are not badly armed. All you want now is an eight-pounder. Pistols, eh? And a dagger too.”
“For any thing that might happen,” said Caballuco, taking the weapon from his belt and displaying its horrible blade.
“In the name of God and of the Virgin!” exclaimed Maria Remedios, closing her eyes and turning her face in terror, “put away that thing. The very sight of it terrifies me.”
“If you won’t take it ill of me,” said Ramos, shutting the weapon, “let us have supper.”
Maria Remedios prepared every thing quickly, in order that the hero might not become impatient.