“My name is not Miranda,” said the latter quietly. And as he saw the angry official again turn rudely to Lucía, he said to her.
“Are you traveling alone, Señora?”
“No, Señor,” answered Lucía, now greatly distressed. “Of course I am not traveling alone; I am traveling with Don Aurelio Miranda, my husband,” and as she pronounced the words, she smiled involuntarily at the new and curious sound of the expression, uttered by her lips.
“She seems very young to be married,” said the traveler to himself; but, remembering the ring he had seen gleaming on her finger, he asked aloud:
“Where did you take the train?”
“At Leon. But is not Miranda here? Holy Virgin! Señor, tell me—allow me——”
And forgetting that the train was in motion she was going to open the door hastily when the official interposed, seizing her by the arm with force.
“Eh, Señora,” he said in a rude voice, “do you want to kill yourself? Are you mad? And let us end this at once. I want the ticket.”
“I haven’t it. How can I give it to you if I haven’t it?” exclaimed Lucía, greatly distressed, her eyes filling with tears.
“You will have to buy one at the next station then, and pay a fine,” growled the official, more angrily than before.