What a mania he had for examining the cards!
The Alcalde, somewhat tranquillized, resolved at last to put an end to his uncertainty, and with a few bold and decisive plays the hand ended, each player winning three tricks.
"A tie!" exclaimed the tobacconist and the apothecary almost simultaneously.
"You see! Playing as badly as you could you haven't lost the hand," said Agonde. "They needed all their cards to win what they did."
They were all absorbed in the game—whose interest was now at its height—with the exception of Segundo, who had abandoned himself to one of those idle reveries in which the activity of the imagination is stimulated by bodily ease. The voices of the players reached his ears like a distant murmur; he was a hundred leagues away; he was thinking of the article he had just been reading, of which certain expressions particularly encomiastic—mellifluous phrases in which the critic artfully glossed over the faults of the poet—had remained stamped on his memory. When would his turn come to be judged by the Madrid press? God alone knew. He lent his attention once more to the conversation.
"We must at least give him a serenade," declared Genday.
"A serenade, indeed!" responded Agonde. "A great thing that! Something more than a serenade—we must have some sort of a procession—a demonstration which will show that the people here are with him. We must appoint a committee to receive him with rockets and bands of music. Let those plotters at Doña Eufrasia's have something to rage about."
The name of the other shop produced a storm of exclamations, jests, and stamping of feet.
"Have you heard the news?" asked the waggish Tropiezo. "It seems that Nocedal has written a very flattering letter to Doña Eufrasia, saying that as he represents Don Carlos in Madrid so she, by reason of her merits, ought to represent him in Vilamorta."
Homeric bursts of laughter and a general huzza greeted this remark.