"Sit down, boys."
A lady peeps out, another, a third; from among black skirts, the heads of frightened children. One of the women, trembling, walks toward a cupboard and, taking out some glasses and a bottle, serves wine.
"What arms have you?" Demetrio demands harshly.
"Arms, arms...?" the lady answers, a taste of ashes on her tongue. "What arms do you expect us to have! We are respectable, lonely old ladies!"
"Lonely, eh! Where's Senor Monico?"
"Oh, he's not here, gentlemen, I assure you! We merely rent the house from him, you see. We only know him by name!"
Demetrio orders his men to search the house.
"No, please don't. We'll bring you whatever we have ourselves, but please for God's sake, don't do anything cruel. We're spinsters, lone women ... perfectly respectable...."
"Spinsters, hell! What about these kids here?" Pancracio interrupts brutally. "Did they spring from the earth?"
The women disappear hurriedly, to return with an old shotgun, covered with dust and cobwebs, and a pistol with rusty broken springs.