At the moment when we enter the cuarto, Don Hernando, with arms folded at his back and frowning brow, is walking up and down, while Don Rufino, seated on a butaca, with his body thrown back, is following his movements with a crafty smile on his lips while striving to scratch off an invisible spot on his knee. For some minutes, the hacendero continued his walk, and then stopped before Don Rufino, who bent on him a mocking, inquiring glance.
"Then," he said, in a voice whose anxious expression he sought in vain to conceal, "you must positively have the entire sum within a week?"
"Yes," the fat man replied, still smiling.
"Why, if that is the case, did you not warn me sooner?"
"It was through delicacy, my dear sir."
"What—through delicacy?" Don Hernando repeated, with a start of surprise.
"You shall judge for yourself."
"I shall be glad to do so."
"I believe you do me the justice of allowing that I am your friend?"
"You have said you are, at least."