Silence. The silversmith added, warming to the subject:
"Rafaela, tell me the truth. Isn't it true that Amadeo stands in our way?"
She peered closely at him, and afterward raised her handkerchief to her eyes. She gave him no other answer. And nothing more happened, just then.
During the monotonous passage of a few more days, Manolo Berlanga gradually realized that Rafaela had big, expressive eyes, small feet with high insteps and a most pleasant walk. He noted that her breasts were firm and full; and he even thought he could detect in her an extremely coquettish desire to appear attractive in his eyes. At the end of it all, the silversmith fully understood his own intentions, which caused him both joy and fear.
"She's got me going," he thought. "She's certainly got me going! Say, I'm crazy about that woman!"
At last, one evening, the ill-restrained passion of the man burst into an overwhelming torrent. On that very night, Zureda was going to come home. Hardly had Manolo Berlanga left the shop when he hurried to his lodgings. He had no more than reached the front room when—no longer able to restrain his evil thoughts—he asked:
"Has Amadeo got here, yet?"
"He'll be here in about fifteen minutes," answered Rafaela. "It's nine o'clock, now. The train's already in. I heard it whistle."
Berlanga entered the dining-room and saw that the young woman was making up his bed. He approached her.
"Want any help?" he asked.