“Virgin of my soul!” cried old Pollonia, tottering to the window. “There they are!” But, peeping out cautiously, she added, “No, ’tis but a neighbour. Open, Pepa.”
“You had better not suffer your door to be opened at all,” said the Captain.
But Pepa pulled the string, and in came the neighbour, shrieking:
“Jesus! Maria! Dios Santissimo! The demons are breaking open every door and plundering every house; all the goods-chests—everything—dragged out into the street.”
“Maria di mi alma! Oh, señora!”
The crashing of doors, breaking of windows, loud thumpings and clatterings, were now distinctly heard in all directions. All outside seemed to boil in turmoil.
Ere long, thump! thump! at their own door.
But it was only another neighbour. Pepa pulled the string, and in she came. Her head was piled up with mattresses, blankets, quilts, and pillows. Under one arm were gowns, caps, bonnets, and ribbons. Her other hand held a child’s chair. Add to all this that her figure was of a stunted and ludicrous character, and she came in puffing and crying under that cumbrous weight of furniture. They could not resist laughing.
“For the love of God, señora,” she whined, “let me put these things in your house.”
She was shown up into the garret. Others followed after her.