"Do you hear what I tell you, Señor Don José?" said Busto; "Candiola says that who wants flour must pay for it. He said that if the city is not able to defend itself, it must surrender; that he has no obligation to give anything for the war, because he was not the one who brought it on."
"Let us go there," said Montoria, with anger, which showed itself in his gestures, his altered voice, his darkened visage. "It is not the first time that I have had that dog, that blood-sucker, in my hands."
I came behind with Augustine, who was pale and downcast. I wished to speak with him, but he made signs to keep silence. We followed to see how this would end. We found ourselves quickly in the Calle de Anton Trillo; and Montoria said to us,—
"Boys, go on ahead and knock at the door of this insolent Jew. Force it open, if no one opens it; enter, and tell him to come down to see me. Take him by the ear, but be careful he does not bite you, for he is a mad dog and a venomous serpent."
When we were walking on, I looked again at Augustine, and saw that he was livid and trembling.
"Gabriel," he said, "I wish to run away. I wish that the earth would open and swallow me. My father will kill me, but I cannot do what he has commanded me."
"Come, lean on me; then act as if you had twisted your foot, and cannot go on."
This was done, and our other companions and I began knocking at the door. The old woman showed herself at the window, and greeted us with a thousand insolent words. A few minutes passed, and then we saw a very beautiful hand raise the curtain, permitting us to see for a moment a face changed and pale, whose great dark eyes cast terrified glances towards the street.
At that moment my companions and the boys who were following were crying in hoarse concert,—
"Come down, uncle Candiola. Come down, dog of a Caiaphas!"