Doubtless Segundo felt a longing to see the moon again, for he rose almost immediately from his seat on the sofa and crossed over to the window, his companion following him. He threw open the sash, and they sat down side by side in two low chairs whose seats were on a level with the flower-pots. A fine carnation regaled the sense with its intoxicating perfume; the moon lighted up with her silvery rays the foliage of the poplar that cast broad shadow over the little square. Segundo opened the conversation this wise:
"Have you made any cigars for me?"
"Here are some," she answered, putting her hand into her pocket and drawing from it a bundle of cigars. "I was able to make only a dozen and a half for you. I will complete the two dozen to-night before I go to bed."
There was a moment's silence, broken by the sharp sound made by the striking of the match and then, in a voice muffled by the first puff of smoke, Segundo went on:
"Why, has anything new happened?"
"New? No. The children—putting the house in order—and then—Minguitos. He made my head ache with his complaining—he complained the whole blessed evening. He said his bones ached. And you? Very busy, killing yourself reading, studying, writing, eh? Of course!"
"No, I have been taking a delightful walk. I went to Peñas-albas and returned by way of Santa Margarita. I have seldom spent a pleasanter evening."
"I warrant you were making verses."
"No, my dear. The verses I made I made last night after leaving you."
"Ah! And you weren't going to repeat them to me. Come, for the love of the saints, come, recite them for me, you must know them by heart. Come, darling."