“Did your family know Don Pedro Eibarramendia?”
“Certainly!” replied Ibarra, opening a drawer and taking out a pile of papers. “He was my great-grandfather.”
“Your great grandfather? Don Pedro Eibarramendia?” he again asked, with livid features and a changed appearance.
“Yes,” replied Ibarra, distracted. “We cut short the name, for it was too long.”
“He was a Basque?” said Elias approaching him.
“Yes; but what’s the matter?” he asked, surprised.
Elias closed his fist, shook it in Ibarra’s face and looked at him. Crisostomo stepped back as soon as he read the expression on that face.
“Do you know who Don Pedro Eibarramendia was?” he asked between his teeth. “Don Pedro Eibarramendia was that wretch who accused my grandfather and caused all our misery.... I was looking for one of his name. God has given you into my hands.... Account to me for our misfortunes.”
Ibarra looked at him terrified. Elias shook him by the arm and, in a bitter voice, filled with hate, said:
“Look at me well; see if I have suffered, and you, you live, you love, you have fortune, home, consideration. You live ... you live!”