“The mother of the thieves?” repeated Sisa, without comprehending.
“Where is the money your sons brought home last night?”
“Ah! the money——”
“Give us the money, and we’ll let you alone.”
“Señores,” said the unhappy woman, gathering her senses again, “my boys do not steal, even when they’re hungry; we are used to suffering. I have not seen my Crispin for a week, and Basilio did not bring home a cuarto. Search the house, and if you find a réal, do what you will with us; the poor are not all thieves.”
“Well then,” said one of the soldiers, fixing his eyes on Sisa’s, “follow us!”
“I—follow you?” And she drew back in terror, her eyes on the uniforms of the guards. “Oh, have pity on me! I’m very poor, I’ve nothing to give you, neither gold nor jewelry. Take everything you find in my miserable cabin, but let me—let me—die here in peace!”
“March! do you hear? and if you don’t go without making trouble, we’ll tie your hands.”
“Let me walk a little way in front of you, at least,” she cried, as they laid hold of her.
The soldiers spoke together apart.