Ingenuousness sometimes resembles boldness, and it was only the innocent look of the clear eyes fixed upon his that enabled the traveler to distinguish between them in the present instance.
“Is there anything else you would like?” he said. “Some breakfast? a cup of coffee or chocolate?”
“No, no, at present I am not at all hungry.”
“Wait for me in the carriage, then, I am going to settle about your ticket.”
He returned shortly, and the train soon started on its way, the motion that by night had seemed vertiginous, now seeming only tiresome. The sun mounted toward the zenith, and warm, heavy gusts of wind, like fiery breaths, stirred the atmosphere. A cloud of coal dust from the engine entered through the window and settled on the white muslin covers that protected the backs of the seats. At times, contrasting with the penetrating odor of the coal, came a puff of woody perfume from the oak groves and the meadows stretching on either hand. The landscape was full of character. It was the wild and beautiful scenery of the Basque provinces. All along the road rose frowning heights crowned by massive casemates and strong castles, recently constructed for the purpose of holding in subjection those indomitable hills. On the sides of the mountain could be discerned broad trenches and lines of redoubts, like scars on the face of a veteran. Tall and graceful poplars girdled the well-cultivated, green and level plains, like necklaces of emerald. Above the neat, white houses rose the belfry towers. Lucía crossed herself at sight of them.
Passing by Vitoria a thought of home came to her mind. It was suggested by the long rows of elms that surround and beautify the city.
“They look like the trees in Leon,” she murmured with a sigh.
And she added in a lower voice, as if speaking to herself:
“I wonder what poor papa is doing now?”
“Does your father reside in Leon?” asked Artegui.