“And God knows they were right,” said the priest who heard the remark, and who was a very old man himself.
Two days after that, the Mule met Caterina as she was going to the fountain. He said “Good morning.” They both stopped, and the Mule looked into Caterina's eyes and had nothing to say. For he saw something there which he did not understand, and which made him feel that he was no better than Cristofero Colon, scraping and stumbling up the narrow street with the mail-bags, in such a vile temper, by the way, that the Mule had to hurry after him.
“It is a slow business,” said the schoolmaster to Sergeant Nolveda, of the Guardia Civil, who lived in San Celoni and trained one young recruit after another according to the regulations of this admirable corps. For one never meets a Guardia Civil alone, but always in company—an old head and a pair of young legs. “A slow business. He is not a lover such as I should choose were I a pretty girl like Caterina; but one can never tell with women—eh?”
Indeed, matters did not progress very quickly. The Mule appeared to take so much for granted—to take as said so much that had not been said. Even the love-making seemed to him to have been understood, and he appeared to be quite content to go his daily journeys with the knowledge that Caterina was to be his wife. There were, of course, others in the valley who would have been glad enough to marry Caterina, but she had shown no preference for any of these swains, who knew themselves inferior, in a worldly sense, to the Mule. So the whole country-side gradually accustomed itself also to the fact that Caterina was to marry Quereno. The news even spread to the mountains. The Mule heard of it there one day when he had accomplished fourteen daily journeys to the accompaniment of this new happiness.
As he was nearing the summit of the pass he saw Pedro Casavel, who had been “in the mountains” three years, seated on a stone awaiting him. Pedro Casavel was a superior man, who had injured another in a dispute originating in politics. His adversary was an old man, now stricken with a mortal disease. And it was said that Pedro Casavel could safely return to the village, where his father owned a good house and some land. His enemy had forgiven him, and would not prosecute. But Casavel lingered in the mountains, distrusting so Christian a spirit.
He rose as the Mule slowly approached. He carried a gun always, and was more daring than his companions in retreat. The Mule mechanically sought in his jacket pocket for a box of matches, which he knew would be a welcome gift, and held them out silently as he neared Casavel. But Casavel did not take them.
“I hear that you are to marry Caterina,” he said, with a half disdainful laugh. “Is it true?”
“It is true,” answered the Mule.
“If you do,” cried the other, passionately, with a bang on the stock of his gun that startled Cristofero Colon—“if you do, I will shoot you.”
The Mule smiled slowly, just as he smiled when the people cried “Ai-i-ieah” as he passed them.