Rava understood the word, and assented eagerly. "Cristoval!" she said, and touched the crucifix, her eyes filling at the name.
"Ah! Peralta! The stout freebooter with the good voice. I know him," and the señora nodded emphatically. "Art baptized, child?"
This word was familiar also, and Rava nodded her head; then said eagerly: "Father Tendilla! Father Tendilla!"
"Father Tendilla!" exclaimed Señora Bolio. "Thou knowest him? Blessed thought!—we'll send a word to Father Tendilla. Aha, Rogelio, sniffling obesity, we shall see! We'll choke thee with thine own unholy purpose, or I'm not Bolio. Rogelio, indeed! If, now, Pedro will but come!" She patted Rava's arm reassuringly and arose.
Meanwhile the veedor, with eyes puffed and bloodshot from a night of scanty sleep and much exacerbation, was breakfasting. At intervals he paused, laid down his knife, and sat rubbing his hands in pleasing meditation while he chewed. Then his complacent smile would fade, and he would cease both to rub his hands and to chew while he irefully reviewed the night's indignities. "Caitiffs! Perfidious scoundrels! Vipers! Only wait! Rogelio hath not done. If he live not to see the garrote at every one of your rascally throats, then 't is because he shall be short-lived. Wait, my over-cheerful bullies: we'll have another settling of this account, and 't is Rogelio will split his sides! But, oh, my stars, what a cost! Four thousand—oh, calamities!" Then, as the matter slowly revolved in his mind and the other aspect came uppermost, he would begin to chew again with a returning smirk of satisfaction. "But what a prize! Eh, Rogelio, what a prize! And safely housed—in the cage, as Duero put it!—accursed knave! serpent! Four—oh, my soul and body!—But, oho! Mendoza, thou uncouth ruffian, how now? Rogelio hath overmatched thee, despite thy rant and swagger. He, he! The fox and the bull—the fox and the bull! Ah, but thou 'rt a rogue, Rogelio! a sad rogue and sly! And thou'lt be reimbursed the four thousand—oh, my life, yes! Her jewels ought to do that. Did she wear jewels last night? Murder! I did not think to look. But 't is like Duero looked out for that—or that prison-bird, Peralta." Rogelio's countenance fell. Presently it brightened. "But we have her, and now it is to be seen how she will receive thee, Rogelio—her daring captor! Doubtless with charming terrors and maidenly trembling. Oh, these delightful women! Shy, timid, alluring! Bless their souls—if they have souls. He, he!"
He sat awhile blinking and chuckling at the remains of his meal; snuffled, arose, and went to make a toilet which he purposed should reconcile his captive. A zestful, engaging occupation, this decking for the admiration of a fair one; and most agreeable if one can, like Rogelio, achieve it with the flattering self-assurance that it cannot fail. Nevertheless, it was not without some rasping of temper, and more than once in the process Rogelio stamped and swore with squeaky emphasis. But at length, after a final glance at his mirror and a dubious fingering of his double chin and hanging jowls, he quit his room, creditably attired, considering all the circumstances. To be sure, his hose were mended in places, his doublet seedy in the strong light, and his ruff far from crisp and snowy; but these defects were offset by a profusion of rings, and a redolence of musk sufficiently overpowering to divert attention.
Señora Bolio answered his rap, and opening the door a little way, replied to his salutation with a brief nod, and stood surveying him from head to foot and back again from foot to head with disfavor as disconcerting as it was manifest. Indisputably, the señora's aspect was unfriendly.
The veedor hesitated. "Is—ah—is the señorita within?"
The señora paused for another survey before she replied with asperity: "Is the señorita within! Of a surety the señorita is within. Prithee, where is she like to be—out chasing butterflies?"
Rogelio looked at her in blank surprise; then, with a feeble effort at a smile: "I would have a few words with her, Señora,—and alone! Pray, open the door."